Riders on the Storm
by Bastille Kain
Summary: Lots of gratuitous violence, some sexual innuendoes, but no real plot
1. Chapter 1

Author: Bastille Kain

Title: Riders on the Storm

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters depicted in this story. All are the property of other people: Joss Whedon, DC Comics(Whoever owns them), Marvel Comics(Whoever owns them), Whoever owns Justice League Unlimited aired on the Cartoon Network. Even the characters I created for this story can probably be claimed by one, any, or all of the above.

Spoilers: None that I can think of.

Summary: Lots of gratuitous violence, some sexual innuendoes, but no real plot.

Pairings: Not going to get started on this.

Rating: Teen.

Feedback: Is always appreciated. Just try to keep it constructive.

Email: Kain6639yahoo com

Archive: If you like it that much, sure. Just be sure to let me know where it's going, and give me the credit, good or bad, for my work.

* * *

List of Characters

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DC Comics

Based in the Justice League Unlimited Universe, so any character that's been shown in the series, plus any other DC character that hasn't and I decide to say lives in that universe. Far, far too many for me to actually list.

Helena Kyle—Huntress

Dinah Redmond Lance—

Barbara Gordon—Oracle

Terry McGinnis—Batman

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

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Buffy Anne Summers—Pre-Season One Buffy

Dawn Summers—Post-Season Five Angel

Faith—Season Three Buffy just prior to "Bad Girls"

Spike—Season Four of Buffy "Harsh Light of Day" prior to fight with Buffy

Willow Rosenberg—Post-Season Five Angel

Tara Maclay—Post-Season Six Buffy

Kennedy—Post-Season Five Angel

Connor—Season Three Angel

Illyria/Fred—Post-Season Five Angel

Cordelia Chase—Post-Season Five Angel

Angel—Pre-Season One Buffy

Sahjhan—Season Five Angel

Gwen Raiden—Season Four Angel

Andrew Tucker—Post-Season Seven Angel

Marvel Comics

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Logan—Wolverine: Pre X-Men

Katherine "Kitty" Anne Pryde—Shadow Cat: Prior to Morlock Massacre

Kurt Wagner—Night Crawler: Prior to Morlock Massacre

Rachel Summers—Phoenix: Prior to Wolverine Stabbing her

Illyana Rasputin—Magik: Just after return from Limbo

Victor Creed—Sabertooth: Age of Apocalypse

Steve Rogers—Captain America: Post U.S. Agent and defeat of John Walker and the Red Skull

Dan Ketch—Ghost Rider: Prior to Zarathos and the Fallen

Johnny Blaze—: Prior to Zarathos and the Fallen

Michael Badilino—Vengeance: Prior to Zarathos and the fallen

Caretaker: Prior to Zarathos and the Fallen

Seer: Prior to Zarathos and the Fallen

Nick Fury: Undetermined

Frank (?) "Wade Wilson"—Dead Pool: Undetermined

Frank Castle—Punisher: Undetermined

Matthew Michael Murdock—Daredevil: Undetermined

Elektra Natchios—Elektra: Undetermined

Natalia Alianovna Romanova—Black Widow: Undetermined

Nate Gray—X Man: Just after his arrival on Earth 616

Sarah Rogers—American Dream: Departure from Beyonder world

Kendal Monroe—Torrent: Departure from Beyonder world

Balder: Departure from Beyonder world

May Parker—Spider-Girl: Undetermined

Peter Parker—Spider-Man: After Mary Jane's death

David Charles Haller—Legion: When he attempts to travel back in time

Miguel O'Hara—Spider-Man: Undetermined

Mystique: Undetermined

Laura Kinney—X-23: Undetermined

Thor: Undetermined

Hercules: Undetermined

Hulk: Savage Hulk/Stupid Hulk

Maya Lopez—Ronin: Undetermined

Original Characters

Future Generation of Marvel Heroes From Alternate Reality

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Rebecca Ross—Thunderbolt: Daughter of Bruce Banner(Hulk) and Betty Ross

Troy Creel—Absorbing Man: Son of Crusher Creel(Absorbing Man) and Mary MacPherran(Titania)

Rina Lopez—Risk: Daughter of Matthew Murdock(Daredevil) and Maya Lopez(Ronin)

Zane Walters—Juggernaut: Son of Cain Marko(Juggernaut) and Jennifer Walters(She-Hulk)

Jennifer Colson Grey: Living daughter of Vampire Wolverine and Vampire Jean Grey

Lucas Frost—Nemesis: Son of Emma Frost and Erik Magnus Lehnsherr(Magneto)

Nicholas Pryde—Wraith: Son of James Howlett and Katherine Anne Pryde

Adrian Guthrie—Scream: Son of Sam Guthrie(Cannonball) and Theresa Rourke Cassidy(Siryn)

Samantha Madrox—Legion: Daughter of Jennifer Walters(She-Hulk) and Jamie Madrox(Multiple Man)

Calypso: Daughter of Hercules and Sersi

Benjamin MacPherran—Sting: Son of Benjamin Reilly(Scarlet Spider) and Mary MacPherran(Titania)

Lucas Munroe—Caldron: Son of Ororo Munroe(Storm) and Bishop

* * *

Riders On The Storm

Red and blue light swirled, it flickered and pulsed, sparking purple arcs of electricity. It looked like it was trying to vomit something out. With a small childlike belch, a red, white and blue clad man shot out of the energy matrix.

Dazed and disoriented as he was, the living legend known best as Captain America twisted and turned, getting his feet under him and absorbed the impact against the wall with a small grunt. His legs bent from the force before he sprang back, propelling himself away.

He hit the floor gracefully, tucking into a tight shoulder roll before coming up in low crouch. His powder blue eyes took in his surroundings, searching for potential enemies, allies…

Anyone that might be able to tell him what just happened.

Only the room, the reception lobby of Wayne Industries, a company he had never heard of before, which wasn't that surprising since he was hardly a world-renowned business mogul, or super financier, was devoid of people. Beyond the glass doors and windows, darkness, broken by the evenly interspaced street lamps, was thick. In the distance, a city loomed, dominating the horizon.

The pieces of furniture decorating the lobby almost looked like they were plucked out of his childhood memories while still appearing to be on the cutting edge. They were extremely dark adding to the deep sense of foreboding filling his bones. He wondered what it would feel like under the warm light of day.

Nearly half a minute had passed, more than enough time for security to reach the area. His arrival should have raised a host of alarms and the lobby should have been crawling with armed personnel, only there wasn't a soul in sight.

He made quick search of the reception lobby, a few papers were out of place and the phone was out of its cradle, but otherwise everything was neat as a pin.

He had been at the Avengers Compound going through a series of intense drills._ Now I'm here, wherever here is_? The first thing he needed to do was contact the team, find out if any of the others have reported anything strange. An Avenger's communicator was a sophisticated piece of electronics; smaller than the average credit card but powerful enough to allow one Avenger the ability to talk with another over vast distances.

Tony Stark was a true genius, a marvel of innovation when it came to miniaturized electronics. Few people compared favorably with the founding Avenger in his specialized field.

"Captain America to Avenger's mansion. Captain America to Avenger's mansion. Avenger mansion come in."

* * *

Brackish green light suffused Titan Tower's rec-room, an extended pulse that stretched on for several heartbeats. The few Titans in the hall shielded their eyes, trying to protect themselves from the intense flare of light.

When it vanished, sucked back into where it had come from; Donna Troy, Cyborg, and Raven took in the strangers that appeared out of light. Four of them wore dark costumes that would fade into the shadows. A man with a scarred face, and dressed in an archaic looking brown cassock that had seen finer days carried a wickedly curved battle-ax. The other two were wearing ordinary street clothes – one, tall and thin as a reed, wore a T-shirt and a pair of faded blue jeans without any shoes, while the other, half a foot shorter but with a thicker build, was dressed in a casual business style; white turtleneck, black sports coat, black pants and dress boots.

All of them were as surprised as the Titans at their unexpected change in location.

"What the…" Victor was at a loss for words. These weren't the first intruders to breach the Tower, and each time it happened it grated on his nerves just that little bit more.

"Where is he?" Sahjhan demanded. His cruel rasp drowning out Cyborg's words. He didn't know, nor did he care about where he was. If Angel thought he could protect Connor be sending him away he was sadly mistaken. The only threat to him would be dead before nightfall.

"Who are you?" Raven inquired calmly. The strangers were as confused as her and her teammates. If she could just keep the situation stabilized, keep it from exploding, not an easy task. The smartly dressed man had a feral nature that he held on a tight leash; still it practically rolled off him. Two of the others radiated power. The one with the horribly scarred face and ashen complexion was consumed with dark eldritch magic. The other felt old but nascent, as if the girl was newly come to her heritage. It was a very odd mixture.

Benjamin eyes were cold as he took in his change of scenery. The last thing he needed was… this. He had a date with Calypso tonight and he wasn't about to let anything get in his way. He didn't care if the Avengers called saying they needed his help to save the universe. The fact his sixth sense was a simmering hum wasn't a surprise; a blind man could tell these strangers were dangerous, and his eyes worked perfectly fine. "Where am I?"

"Where the frak have you brought me?" Miguel demanded. He didn't know who was responsible for bringing him here though he was nominally sure it wasn't any of the five people, who, like him, were backed into the corner of the lounge. That left the three jerks facing them down. It didn't take someone with his I.Q. to realize two-to-one odds against didn't make a lot of sense when attempting a kidnapping.

"I suggest all of you stand down until everything gets sorted out," Donna suggested diplomatically.

Sahjhan snorted at her. "Once I've attended to a bit of unfinished business," he leered at her openly, "then maybe, you could attend to some of my personal business."

"That tears it!" Victor growled protectively as he raised his arm and released a high yield force beam at the scarred miscreant. He didn't care if the beam left the man as a quivering puddle of goo. Nobody talked that way to any of his teammates, current or former, and walk away.

Benjamin's sixth sense flared and he reacted instinctively leaping to the ceiling, adhering to it as few others could. His shoulder length, feather light brown hair flopped lazily as he somersaulted through the air.

An instant before the beam struck, Sahjhan faded to an insubstantial mass before he disappeared altogether leaving the beam to do nothing more then pulverize a section of the wall.

Miguel fired a pair of globs of webbing as he said, "If that's how you want to play it?"

"Stop!" Natasha shouted, but it was too late.

Nicholas jump into the fray. It seemed to him that he had spent his entire life training, preparing for a moment like this. His parents made sure he received the best education available to him, and with his parents, the head of S.H.I.E.L.D. James Howlett, and one of the world's top scientific minds, Katherine Pryde, a name mentioned a breath or two after Reed Richards and Victor Von Doom, there was definitely nothing unavailable to him.

He studied under the best fighters in the world. Shang-Chi was like an uncle to him. He lapped up every sneaky, dirty, and underhanded trick an old warhorse, his father's predecessor, Nick Fury had tucked up his sleeve. By sixteen, Charles Xavier, Professor X, had given him an Ivy League education and taught him two dozen languages, most were spoken on Earth, but a few were the more common languages spoken amongst the aliens spread throughout their sector of space. The two people he had learnt the most from were his own parents. His father taught him how to be a man, do the right thing, never back down, never give up; while his mother taught him to take responsibility when he was wrong, and not to be ashamed to admit that he was wrong, that he had made a mistake.

Nicholas didn't know if this was a mistake or not, but his blood burned for it. The dark haired girl was a warrior, he sensed it deep in his bones.

Seer didn't know what was going on, she could feel everyone's confusion and uncertainty, which added to her own. Still, she wasn't about to play target for anyone. Her tattooed left eye glowed, an incandescent white as she retaliated, firing off a pair of bluish white mystical energy beams. One went wide of its mark, shards of concrete cascaded outward where it hit the wall. The other was swallowed by a patch of darkness.

Donna's fist smashed into Nicholas' stomach at the same moment his connected with her jaw. Neither gave any indication that the others' punch was anything more then a minor irritation. She used a fraction more strength with her next punch, a left hook, connected with the other side of his head forcing him to the side a step. A right jab snapped his head back, a left cross quickly followed, but was met with a sharp knife hand strike that bite deep into her bicep, numbing the muscle as his palm heel slammed into her chest with the force of a runaway bullet train. At the same time, his right foot nudged hers back half an inch disrupting her balance.

Bart Allen, who easily outdistanced the rest of the Titans, barged through the emergency exit at the far end of the hall in a blur. It took him a fraction of a fraction, of a fraction of a second to absorb the chaos that had descended upon the rec-room. _A little on the thin side_, _but still_,_ gotta say, she's a hottie_. _Too bad she's a bad guy_… He surged ahead, moving so fast he didn't even blur, his punch to the back of Seer's head seemed to come out of nowhere.

Benjamin surveyed the battle heating up below, studied its ebb and flow. He wasn't sure if it was his instincts telling him not to get involved in the fray below or the voices of his parents. Either way, he had no intention of allowing himself to be dragged into the fight. Other then the Black Widow he didn't recognize anybody else. One man reminded him of Spider-Man, his powers were similar to the Wall Crawler's, much like his own, but the costume didn't scan with any outfit his biological father had worn during his crime-fighting career.

Neither of his parents, the infamous duo Crusher Creel and Mary MacPherran – better known to the world as The Absorbing Man and Titania – wanted him following in their larcenous footsteps. Nor did they want him taking up Spider-Man's crusade against crime. It had been a test for them, but they did give up their criminal ways; it had taken some time, but eventually mainstream heroes like Captain America, Spider-Man, even Thor came to accept them. Others though, She-Hulk and Wasp always held a grudge against his mom. He had tried to find out why, but nobody was talking, not even Jennifer. They did a lot of freelance work for the Guardsmen and S.H.I.E.L.D. Even giving the Avengers a hand from time to time; all in an attempt to give him the life they felt he deserved.

Bart was surprised she had managed to avoid all but a glancing blow; most people never even saw his punch coming, much less react to it. Somehow she had sense it.

Seer was just as surprised to find her head still attached to her shoulders. Caretaker, and some of the others might not flinch at participating in this sort of battle royal, but she had far better things to be doing on a Saturday night. Seer flipped him a little wave as she said, "Bye."

A quizzical expression creased Bart's face as he mimicked her with a questioning, "Bye?"

An incandescent blue light flared around him. When it vanished, Kid Flash was gone.

"Bart!" Koriand'r shouted as she and the rest of the Titans jostled and banged their way into the rec-room. As soon as she was clear of the doorway, she blasted past her friends and teammates heading directly for the lithe, dark haired youth that had dispatched Bart.

Tim Drake, the current Robin and leader of the Teen Titans. Dick Grayson, Nightwing, the original Robin and founding member of the Titans, in town to simply touch base with some old friends. Kon-El, Superboy, the combined clone of Superman and Lex Luthor. Garfield Logan, Beast Boy – Changeling, the incorrigible shape shifter. Cassandra Sandsmark, the daughter of Zeus, the current Wonder Girl.

And Mia Dearden, Speedy. She drew a bead on the red-haired woman in the blackish grey bodysuit, _An electrified net should be enough to put her down_.

"Pick your targets people," Dick shouted as he threw himself into the maelstrom, "and take these jokers down!"

Donna muscled her way through the disruption, but a sharp palm heel to the right side of her head caused her ears to ring. With a growl, she ignored the hit, wrapping her left arm around his right, and used her superior height to leverage him onto his toes. Her right forearm smashed into his chest; once, twice, she pulled back for a third…

Nicholas right hand darted forward, a spear-hand poke lanced into her throat. Donna choked, his fingers felt hard as steel, her grip on his arm loosening. He twisted his arm forward, snaking it around her shoulder, pressing her head to the side and back. His right hand smashed into the exposed ribs with two lightening quick leopard paw strikes before slipping down the side of Donna's body. Reaching the crook of her knee, lifted her up, spun her over, and slammed her face first into the floor.

The insistent buzz informed Natasha that one of her fellow Avengers was attempting to contact her. She ignored it, whoever it was would understand, circumstances being what they were. She spun, her Widow Bite lashing out to incinerate the specialized arrow. It was reminiscent of Clint, but the archer was a girl not much older then Logan's new sidekick, Jubilation Lee.

Cassandra saw her predecessor slammed to the floor and knew who her target was. She launched herself at him, he didn't look like much, but he had taken Donna down with a combination of skill, grace, power, and determination. She reached him in a long heartbeat determined to take him out quickly.

She was surprised he turned to face her, Cassandra had thought she was going to take him unaware, be able to end the fight before it truly began. Nicholas caught her as he turned, he twisted and slammed her head first into the floor. He rolled away coming to his feet as both girls, light and dark haired, quickly climbed back to theirs.

Taking in the mayhem around him though Benjamin knew this was what he had been born to do, no matter how much he or his parents didn't want to admit it. His body quivered with anticipation as he released his grip on the ceiling and dropped down upon the long, curly haired woman with the orange complexion. The girl was the very definition of sultry voluptuousness.

He landed lightly on Koriand'r's back, the added weight surprising her greatly. "Guess who?" He quipped playfully as he wrapped his forearm in front of her eyes.

"I'm going to blast you into space!" The Tamaran Princess vowed with a menacing growl. She grabbed hold of his forearm and squeezed, trying to pull the limb from in front of her eyes, but was unable to budge the arm as it stayed in place.

The fight was being overrun by heavy hitters Natasha had never seen before. For the non super-powered types like herself and the archer, surviving this melee was going to become incrementally more difficult the longer it continued. That realization didn't faze her in the slightest. Once she had been the Avenger's field leader, and nobody ever accused their enemies of being lightweights.

Now all she had to do was bring this fight to a grinding halt.

"Just like old times," Garfield observed as he and Dick closed on Miguel together.

Dick hurled a pair of Bat-a-rangs at the dark clad stranger wearing the stylized Death Head costume as he said, "So it seems."

Miguel easily avoided both weapons, twisting in the air like no normal human. "You're gonna have to do better then that."

In less then a heartbeat Garfield's body transformed, the green skin young man vanished and in his place stood a twelve-foot tall green gorilla. The creature beat his chest and roared as Miguel landed in front of him, crouched low as Garfield brought both hands down, planning to smash the intruder.

Miguel faced the threat with a calm he wouldn't have thought himself capable of possessing a handful of years ago. So much had happened to him though, things he couldn't have imagined before becoming Spider-Man, that facing off against a green gorilla was almost common place. He caught the two massive arms with steel cable like muscles covered in thick hair, and held them in place with little effort. He was extremely careful to keep his claws retracted, he had no desire to kill anyone accidentally. He swept his legs upward landing a solid blow to the side of Garfield's head, then swung around, planted his feet squarely in Garfield's back and pushed him toward Dick.

Dick easily avoided the stumbling Garfield. He knew a few things about the stranger he hadn't just a few seconds ago, none of which boded well for him. He had a natural speed and agility advantage and was stronger then a twelve-foot tall gorilla. Dick knew it wouldn't be the last time he would face these kinds of odds and he wasn't about to start backing away now.

"Son of a bitch," Victor snarled as he tore the rest of the extremely tough goop from his mechanical arm, enough of it so he wasn't concerned with it mucking up his systems. The man who had fired it was giving Dick a run for his money in a close quarter tussle. He would love to give the jerk a little back, but the pair were hopping about too much, like bullfrogs on a red-hot skillet, to take the risk, and Garfield was right there.

Koriand'r though looked like she could use a hand. A long distance hand. He took careful aim, leading him… A high yield force beam leapt from his right arm. In a heartbeat the beam struck…

Benjamin waited until the last possible instant before violently shifting, pulling back on Koriand'r's head and twisting her body in mid flight.

…Koriand'r square in the stomach.

_Her powers are nearly a mirror of my own_. The thought troubled Raven a little as a dark portal enveloped Seer's energy blast.

Seer formed another eldritch shield as a pair of intense heat beams lanced toward her. Energy cascaded in a shower of sparks as Kon-El streaked past her. He didn't have time to focus his full attention on her right now. Titans were in need of his help.

_What in the name of the lower abyss am I still doing here_? The young Blood asked herself for the umpteenth time since first getting involved in this conflict. _I should've scat_,_ when the scatting was good_.

Again, Benjamin waited to the last possible second. Suddenly, with no warning he flipped over Koriand'r, swung around, and drove his feet into her already bruised stomach. The move drove her away while providing him with the momentum to launch himself at Kon-El.

The move took the cloned Kryptonian by surprise. The man showed no hesitation, as if he didn't know whom he was attacking. Kon-El reacted quickly, pulling up and throwing a heavy right hand… That missed, not by much. It whisked past his head just grazing his hair. Somehow, he had anticipated the punch. _But how_? Was the question floating through Kon-El's mind.

Benjamin knew he had to be careful, he didn't have huge, bulging muscles, most people called him a skinny twerp, and he let them, but he had never meant anyone as strong as him. Growing up his parents hadn't allowed him to play with the other kids because of the fear he might accidentally hurt them, or worse. Mom was always stressing being careful, and normally he'd follow her advice, but this guy looked like he could take a punch, plus he seemed the type that needed to be taken down a peg or two every so often.

His sharp uppercut rocked Kon-El's head back. It was a strong punch, but not that strong. It was more of a surprise especially coming from such a skinny arm. Kon-El retaliated in kind, and missed again. No more then a hair's breadth, but again the man was able to move at just the right time.

A quick glance was all Natasha needed to know that out of everybody involved in this little fight she recognized exactly two people, both from Avenger's files. Seer, the girl had some connection to Ghost Rider, but what that was none of the Avengers knew, and if Strange had any idea he wasn't talking.

The other was Spider-Man, not the Spider-Man from her time, but a future version of the hero from the year twenty ninety-nine; Spidey had run across him when he had been flung into the future. What he learnt about the future hero, not much as it turned out, had been stored in the Avenger's computers.

Neither of them would be able to help her and everybody else was an unknown. Still, she had to try.

"Anybody ever inform you that daydreaming in the middle of a fight is a good way to lose it?" Tim citied with a cocky twist to his lips as he landed in front of her. She had a couple of inches on him he noted with a touch of frustration over his diminutive stature.

Natasha blocked his straight cross with ease while driving a palm heel into his short ribs. Tim gasped for breath trying to ignore the pain. Natasha though moved with the ease and fluidity graced upon her since birth, honed and amplified by more then fifty years of intense training. She twisted under his arm, flipping him up and over. Tim crashed to the floor hard. What little oxygen that had remained in his lungs exploded outward with the force of the impact. She kept one arm twisted while she pinned the other with her foot. "When your skill matches your enthusiasm, you will truly be a worthy opponent." Her accent, while distinctive and noticeable, wasn't as thick as it once had been. "Goodnight little one," she finished with a measured blow to his forehead. She didn't like hitting children, but he had made a choice, had put on the costume and decided to play hero.

* * *

**­**

Spike slammed into the wall, as if he were shot from a cannon, bounced off and crashed to the floor. He lay there for a moment grumbling to himself.

That had not been part of his plan. First there was going to be taunting of the Slayer, then he'd commence with the beating her senseless.

After that, it got a little muddled. He wasn't sure where to go from there. He had been toying with the idea of letting her stake him, just to see the look on her face when he didn't fall to dust.

When she realized today was going to be the day she died.

Kill her?

Turn her?

Killing her, while it would be immeasurably pleasurable—intoxicating—after all the trouble she's caused him over the years, seemed a waste beyond words. There was that hot, tight, lithe body she sported to think of. It would be such a shame to let it rot in the ground when it could be doing so much more.

People clogged the corridor—most gaping at his arrival—but the Slayer wasn't among them. As far as he could tell, she had never set foot in this hall. He pushed himself slowly to his feet, a menacing scowl smeared over his face, snarling, "Where's the Slayer?"

Once he reached his feet, he looked everywhere, trying to see everything at once as he bellowed, "Where the bloody hell is she," causing those nearby to jump away. He whirled around in the sunlight, black duster flaring as he spun. He grabbed a dark haired boy, who just happened to be standing there, by the throat and lifted him into the air with ease. His feet dangled inches above the floor.

Spike knew it for some kind of spell, he had been outside, brilliant California sunshine washing over him as he crossed the campus green. Now he was in the wide hallway of some unknown high rise.

It reeked of magic, which meant Buffy's redheaded playmate—the one named after the tree or a flower, he wasn't sure and couldn't care less which—was dipping her little toes in the big pond.

Where there were things to strip the flesh from her bones.

The young man made a gurgling sound as Spike tightened his grip. "Having a bit of a problem understanding you mate. If I'm here, means she's gotta be here?" He knew his logic didn't make sense, but at the same time, he didn't really care. He wanted his fight with the slayer and he was going to get it. The only question was how many people he had to kill to draw her out. "And if the Slayer's too much of a coward to face me like a real man… I'll just have to give her a reason to come out and play. Even if it means killing the entire lot of yous."

A glob of sticky goop splattered across his face, solidifying almost instantly. "Sodding—" He growled dropping his hostage. His fingers tore at the hard yet pliable substance clinging to his face.

"Hey! Eighties Retro boy," May called out as she streaked towards Spike. "If you want a fight, all you had to do was ask." She covered the distance to him in a single bound.

Her first order of business was to get him away from the bystanders, his casual comment about killing everyone made that a priority.

Her second order of business, after surviving her first order of business, was finding out where she was, how she got here. And, of slightly more importance, how she was going to get back home. That last was probably going to include a very expensive phone call to her parents and an even more taxing explanation on why she was web-slinging through the city in the first place.

That was a laugh riot she could spend a lifetime avoiding.

Right now, she had a serious problem at hand to deal with. Rather, a serious problem at foot.

The soles of her feet slammed into Spike's chest driving him through the plaster wall. He staggered back, flipping over a recently abandoned desk,

Knocking the monitor, phone, ink blotter, and a whole host of paraphernalia off the heavy piece of dark oak. A 5'2", red haired ad space salesman, was frantically scrambling away from the chaos. With a bellow that sounded more like a raucous guffaw, the vampire jumped back to his feet.

That quickly May attacked again. Landing on the desk, she struck with a left jab followed by a hard right cross. She flipped backwards, kicking Spike squarely under the chin.

He stumbled back as she landed on the other side of the desk, but managed to stay on his feet. His lips blossomed into an eager smile, his face beamed triumphantly. Her Spider-Sense ratcheted up like she was in the crosshairs.

The man, Brain O'Shale, according to the placard on the floor by Spike's foot, hung close to the wall as he skirted across the room on hands and knees racing for the door. Spike didn't care about him, he was aware of him the way a blind man is aware of the sun on his face, his fight was here. She wasn't the Slayer, but in a pinch, Spike figured she would do.

"Feisty little chit." His voice was approving, almost encouraging. "Bit of oomph to your wallop." Scintillating blue eyes took her in from head to toe as he leered at her lithe form. "Went and raided yourself a costume shop."

"Father Daughter tradition," she answered. Her body felt like a compressed spring as she waited for him to make his move.

Spike smirked at her; his leer was much more open, more suggestive as he said, "Must look a sight better on you. Filled out in all the right places as it were."

May's face scrunched up under her mask; eyes narrowed on Spike. With speed that nearly matched hers, Spike leapt over the desk, May darted under.

Her Spider-Sense was buzzing like a nest of mad hornets she had just punted. It was as if he was nothing but danger. Still, there was an arc, a sort of static shock just before he struck. If not for that she never would have moved in time. Her father, with his years of experience, might have been comfortable fighting under such conditions.

May however, wasn't.

She kicked out behind her, catching Spike in his left hip. Then quickly pulled her foot back as he snatched at it. With a whirlwind spin to the right Spike brought his left hand down across the desk and split it in twain.

May barely managed not to be there as the hammer blow fell. Her feet slammed into his face as she swung down from the prefab ceiling. Spike staggered back as May landed back on the floor in a low crouch. She reached out—hands striking like a pair of vipers—and grabbed Spike around his ankles. With a sharp jerk, she pulled his legs out from under him.

As Spike hit the floor with a resounding thud, May landed halfway up the wall. Deftly she shot out several strands of webbing securely fastening Spike to the floor.

Spike laughed uproariously as he lay on his back. May glared at him through her mask. "Now that there was a right little donnybrook."

A crowd had begun to gather at the hole in the wall. A murmur began to rise from them. The sound of cameras began to pop and flashbulbs went off.

"In case this hasn't sunk into that peroxide blonde head of yours, you're caught." Spike could just about see the self-indulgent little smile under her mask. "Just one strand of that webbing can hold—"

"Lois Lane," an inquisitive, bright-eyed brunette with sharp features and winning smile said into a microphone as she stepped partway into the recently remolded office.

"Blah, blah, blah," Spike grumbled derisively.

Dozens of questions bubbled at the tip of her tongue. Who was the Peroxide blonde in the black duster? What was his name? Who was this Slayer he had wanted to kill? Who was the girl clinging to the wall in the outlandish red and blue costume with the spider effigy emblazoned on the chest? _If she didn't already have a moniker_, _Spidergirl would be perfect_, _but the Crimson Spider_, _or Scarlet Spider_,_ would be more perfect_._ Both have more pizzazz_.

Lois stopped looking down at Spike. The man didn't look captured.

"If you dolts fought as much as you prattled on, you twits would have conquered the world years…" He stopped, seeming to remember something of importance. "Right, that should be your line. If I was all that interested in world conquering."

May shook her head as she said, "You say I talk too much?"

The girl sounded like an indignant teenager. Lois held out her microphone deciding it might be best to just let the two metahumans banter back and forth for a little while.

"Point is Platelet, your stringy stuff might be able to stop a charging rhino in its tracks… You've overlooked one, very important fact," Spike said placing extra emphases on the very. He sounded so very full of himself.

Lois could hear the huff in the girl's voice as she asked, "And that would be?"

Spike heaved, ripping out sections of the tile as he leapt to his feet with a shout of, "I'm the Big Bad!"

"Get out of here!" May shouted at the crowd. It began to scatter. With a muttered curse, she leapt forward, her foot lightly touching the top of Spike's head.

Lois knew she was never going to get out of the way in time. She knew it deep down, in her bones. Like the person who watched the bullet speed toward their head, she knew she was going to die.

May knew it as well, her Spider-Sense screamed in her skull as she bounced toward the hole, nothing more then a red and blue streak. Her arm wrapped around Lois' thin waist as she twisted through the opening at breakneck speeds. She held her hand down to the floor and concentrated, suddenly she vaulted upward as half the desk followed her through the opening, shattering against the wall. "Hold on tight," May hit the ceiling and bounded down the hall. She couldn't just leave the reporter there. Odds were better then even that that sociopath would kill her out of hand. "You're in for one wild ride."

Spike stormed out after her, tearing chunks of tile from himself. "You aren't gonna duck and run on me? Not after all the good times we've had."

His voice mingled with Lois' ear shattering wail that trailed May down the corridor. Even after she ducked around the corner. Spike grumbled incoherently as he stalked after her; unaware of the buxom blonde that stared after him.

"Spike," Tara whispered in confusion. She had just spent a magical night, and morning, making love to her Willow; the first night of what she hoped would be many to come. It had been so long, too long and she wished they would never have to spend an instant away from each other, not even a single heartbeat, not for any reason.

There was blood on her shirt, a lot of blood. She hoped that Willow was all right, but she didn't know. She couldn't feel her. It didn't mean anything though. Willow just might be out of town, maybe even the entire state.

Spike was chasing after a female demon that was wearing a Spider-Man costume that he'd been fighting. The demon had taken an innocent bystander hostage and had fled in the opposite direction.

In a blink Tara made her decision; Spike was going to need her help, whether he admitted it or not. It would also give her the opportunity to help him smooth out his approach with Buffy. That the two of them loved each other was unquestionable. That neither knew how to act toward the other wasn't in question either, both of them were in serious need of psychological help. Less then a year ago she had been ripped out of heaven and the only stable relationship Spike had been in was with an insane vampire with precognitive powers; a relationship that had lasted more then a hundred years.

What possible chance could they have. Maybe it wouldn't work out; there was certainly enough baggage between the two of them. But, maybe it would.

From everything Buffy told her, the Slayer certainly hoped it would. She was terrified it wouldn't, more terrified it would. That she didn't deserve to be happy. That she came back wrong. That her destiny was to be buried in the darkness. That she craved it; that she would thrive in it, become strong in it, with it.

Tara wasn't sure how to help Buffy, but she knew she had to. Her participation in Buffy's resurrection saw that she did.

Step one, was to get Spike to lay off the whole came back wrong angle that he had been working recently. That if he could hit Buffy, and only Buffy without giving himself a migraine it was because, deep down, on some buried, sub conscious level he wasn't going to hurt her.

That was because he loved her.

If she tried hard enough she might even be able to convince herself of that.

Now all she had to do was keep up with him. Convince him of her theory, and hope he didn't scoff in her face and continue on the way he had been.

Hiking up her skirts, she darted off after him.


	2. Chapter 2

The beach was a hotbed of activity. The white sands, normally so immaculate, so pristine were scared with hasty footprints, the impression of four bodies sprawled across it.

An army of women, bronzed skin, sandals, white wrap around blouses and skirts, had the strangers surrounded. Armed with archaic weapons; spears, swords, bows and arrows the women stood ready, balanced on the edge of violence. For the first time in their long history, confusion was deeply etched into every beautiful face that stared at the four newcomers.

It wasn't the manner in which they arrived that had the women of Themyscera agitated. Others had come to the small island in manners almost as outlandish. A moment before a strange, brackish vortex had appeared in the skies above Themyscera. It was only there an instant before discharging the quartet.

Two women and two men.

Both of the men wore garish costumes. The younger, judging by his youthful face was dressed all in leather, white leather tank top, a black leather jacket, and tight black leather pants. A shock of white hair struck a sharp contrast with the rest of his light sandy brown hair. Women outside of Themyscera would consider him attractive and while they could admire his beauty, it was clinical and objective, admiring a finely carved statue brought more pleasure to their lives.

The other man was dressed in a deep blood red, form-fitting body suit. A stylized double D emblazoned on his chest and two small devils' horns protruded from his forehead. The lower part of his face mouth, chin, and part of his checks were all that was visible.

Hippolyta shivered at the human effigy of the Christian devil. Long ago, she had given up her attempts to understand the minds of men.

One of the woman, a brunette was tall and thin. A delicate tattoo decorated the small of her back. She was ripe, in the prime of her maturity and with a full life ahead of her. There was a sense of divinity about her, as if the gods favored her with their blessing.

The other woman, was in fact little more then a child. She was a marvel of a girl whose body was just beginning to blossom, hinting at what was to come with age. Long limbs, slim waist, a graceful swan neck. Even at such a young age her body showed signs of a strenuous training regimen. Her eyes were an unusually deep jade green and her thick, luxuriant hair that nearly touched the small of her back, was a rich shade of forest green.

It was the men themselves that caused the confusion in the island defenders. For several months now there has been much debate in altering the age old law that all men who come to Themyscera either be driven off or killed. It has been proposed that those who stumbled upon their shores by happenstance or misfortune, be allowed to reside on the beach until rescue could be arranged. Several women had pointed out that it wouldn't be difficult since Diana had left them with a long-range communication device in the event an emergency arose upon the island. Even Diana would agree, a man being on the shores of Themyscera was an emergency.

As it stood right now though only a handful of men were allowed to set foot upon Themyscera, an honor awarded them for their assistance in preventing Hades from releasing hell on Earth. It was their aid, selfless acts of heroism, that turned the tide and saved the world. When they came, it was never unannounced, and normally dire events prompted their visitation. Most of the time her daughter, Diana, accompanied them.

Still, laws were in place; woman who stumbled upon Themyscera were tolerated, until they could be returned to the world outside. A few chose to stay, but it was rare.

For men, it was still death to set foot on the island and as their queen one she was forced to uphold all the laws.

Mat groaned hoarsely as he rolled over, trying to push himself up. His senses felt overloaded, as if he stood in the heart of an inferno while thunder crashed directly overhead. His radar was skewered. Everything felt off, the air smelt too clean.

Dozens of hostile thoughts roused Nate. The throbbing through his body was a bramble under his skin, an irritant he shoved to the farthest reaches of his consciousness. Everywhere he went on this world it was the same thing. Everybody hunted him, hounded him. He was getting tired of it.

And now, dozens of armed women wanted him dead simply because he was on their island.

"I am Hippolyta, Queen of Themyscera. You have trespassed upon our land."

Samantha felt something bad was about to happened… Something badder, anyway. As if being sucked through an unknown portal and spat out the other side wasn't bad enough. To top it off she had unknowingly broken some sort of law. Hopefully the penalty wouldn't be too sever, or they would take into account mitigating circumstances. Her mom would be so proud of her for thinking of that one. Her body ached like never before, not even an entire day training under her "Uncle" Bruce's watchful eye. He was actually her second cousin, but to her, he was Uncle Bruce. She forced her muscles to work, despite their screaming protest, and pushed herself to one knee.

"The women of your group are welcome to stay as long as it takes to provide transport back to the world outside."

Samantha didn't think that was so bad, the sun was shining brilliantly out of a high sky, the air was warm but the cool breeze coming in off the ocean kept it from being sweltering. Then she saw the woman's eyes harden and Samantha knew the hammer was about to fall.

Before Hippolyta could speak, Nate Gray growled deep in his gut. His left eye glowed with incandescent energy as his power surged within him. "You think to kill me Amazon Queen?" He lashed out with a telekinetic whip sending Hippolyta and a number of other warriors flying backwards.

Cordelia dove to the ground, somehow sensing the attack. "This is so not good," she mumbled. Not for the first time Cordelia wondered if she should ask about hazard pay. Her life was one adventure after another. With her life hanging in the balance more often then not.

Surprised that she remembered Angel's training, Cordelia rolled, came up in a crouch next to the only other man on the island.

He breathed deeply: slow, calm, and relaxed. Cordelia had the sense that he was in a great deal of pain. "We have to get you out of here," she said in a rush.

Matt winced at the sound of her voice, it was like the rapport of a gun going off only a few inches from his head. He tramped the pain down, there was too much at stake to let it hinder him. "We have to stop him."

Cordelia rolled her eyes, wanting to know why she always had to stumble upon self-sacrificing morons. "Maybe it's escaped your notice, but there's an entire Island of Amazons that want you dead."

Matt stared at her with unseeing eyes. He was still able to see her, in a manner of speaking. The scent of her, the sound of her, the feel of her, her heat, her concern for him; the steady, rhythmic thud of her heart. Obviously she was use to high stress situations like the one they found themselves in. There was something more then human in her scent.

He refused to believe that one rational person ever wanted to kill another. Ending a life wasn't something any sane person took lightly. He was positive that given a chance he could successfully argue his case.

There wasn't time to explain any of this to the young girl. Another crisis needed to be resolved first. "His name is X-Man, he's a powerful mutant; telepath, telekinetic. He came out of nowhere a few years back. He was reported dead some months ago—"

"That's great," Cordelia cut him off. He sounded like Giles just sitting there rattling off facts. "But who are you?"

Matt froze, the question had taken him by surprise. In New York, everybody knew who Daredevil was. Air temperature, all the tropical aromas carried on the breeze made it quite clear he wasn't in New York. "Daredevil," he finally said.

Cordelia looked at him blankly. It was clear by the way he said his name that it was supposed to have meaning. She didn't have a clue what though.

It took little more then a simple thought, a desire really, and Samantha triggered her transformation. Her skin turned darker, becoming a deep emerald hue as her body mass increased. With each heartbeat it doubled. In only a few seconds Samantha grew fourteen inches going from just over five feet to just under seven, she packed on more then seven hundred pounds of ultra dense muscle. The white sand compressed under her massive weight as it increased and she sank several inches.

"Are people suppose to be able to do that?" Cordelia whispered to herself.

She wasn't expecting a response, didn't think anybody other then Angel and Conner, or any other vampire that happened to be around, possibly even Buffy and Faith, would have heard her question. When Matt said, "A few," it took her by surprise.

"Stop!" Samantha bellowed at the top of her lungs. The sound wave alone was enough to make the Amazons brace themselves. Even Nate had to secure himself inside a telekinetic bubble to keep from being brushed back.

Instead of having a calming effect, or even just intimidating everyone, enough for that one heartbeat where reality snaps back in place, a number of spears were hurled in her direction. Samantha felt like smacking herself upside the head, hard. She had forgotten that where super powered people are concerned reality often was flex muscles first ask rational questions… Never!

Ignoring the spears, and the Amazonians—from what Samantha could tell they were simply women armed with medieval weapons—and focused her attention on Nate. In her opinion, he was by far the greater threat. Once he was neutralized she was positive safe passage off the island for everyone would be a snap.

Powerful muscles bunched, like coiled springs, and released. Samantha launched herself into the air. A pair of spears jutted into the white sands where she had stood.

Matt pushed Cordelia out of the way and then snatched the spear out of the air. His senses were beginning to level off. Nothing was screaming at him anyway. His radar was coming back into focus, enough that he felt he could rely on it.

Nate Grey struck again. "You think your physical power impresses me…" His telekinetic power battered Samantha, ramming her back to the beach below. "…when I've fought the Hulk to a standstill?" His boast was plain even if most of the people below didn't understand its meaning.

The spear spun in a tight arc as Matt knocked two more of the weapons out of the air. Cordelia plucked one from the white sands and prepared for the charging warriors. She wasn't familiar with the spear, but hoped the little training Angel gave her would compensate. _Against women trained from birth_… She scoffed silently. …_fat lot of luck there_.

"Use it like a staff," Matt instructed before charging to meet them. He had the feeling her only real chance of getting out of this alive was if he could defeat an army of Amazon warriors.

The one person who truly understood Nate's declaration smiled up at him and said, "You fought Uncle Bruce—"

A few feet away a second, identical voice broke in, "To a standstill—"

A third, "All by—"

Another, "Yourself?"

Then a fifth. "That is impressive."

Nate looked down upon the five identical girls on the beach below. "What the?" He tried reading one of their minds, but there were five identical brainwaves and each one was thinking something different from the other. It was the strangest sensation he has ever encountered.

Samantha loved this aspect of her powers. It allowed her to experience so much, way more then the average thirteen year old. With only a handful of duplicates her days were full of new and exciting adventures. While she had perfect attendance in school she only ever went once a week, one day she would hangout with Uncle Bruce, one day she would go to work with her mom, another day it was the theater or the movies or to catch a concert, another day it was piano lessons, guitar, drum, another day it was training with various members of the Avengers or the Fantastic Four, The X-Men, or she would spend the day hanging out at home with her dad watching T.V. or playing cards or chess or reading a book or sleeping in.

At the end of the day her and her duplicates would merge back into one and share their knowledge and new found experiences. The only hard part was remembering who had done what the previous day. She got into more arguments with herself over that.

"It normally takes—" The third Samantha said. She was standing, looking up at him.

The fifth Samantha, this one had one knee planted in the sand, her fingers just grazing the fine grains, cut in adding, "Me, twelve to fifteen—"

"Dupes just to make—" Samantha number one said as she pushed herself out of the hole she was lying in.

"It—" The fifth Samantha chipped in.

The second Samantha glared at the fifth, her mouth open slightly as if she was about to say the same thing. Into the prolonged silence the fourth Samantha said, "Interesting."

Two dozen Amazon Warriors crested the small rise and stopped, slightly stunned at seeing five green skinned women where there had only been the one. Their hesitation last only a moment before long years of training took over. Half a score of arrows filled the air, a handful of spears joined them as the first wave of warriors charged down the slope.

"Right," the first Samantha said. A touch of annoyance lacing its way into her voice as she added, "Forget about them. All right this is what we're gonna—"

"How come you're always in charge?" The fourth Samantha asked.

"We don't have time for this right now," the third Samantha said.

"I think right now's the—"

"No! It's not," the second Samantha cut in sharply. "Big fight—"

"Lives at risk—" the third Samantha picked up as if she had been saying it all along.

"Including our own," the fifth Samantha put in helpfully.

"Definitely not the time," the third Samantha finished.

The fourth Samantha looked around at her four twins and said, "Fine, just gang up on me, why don't you?"

"Sam, Sam…" the first Samantha starts off pointing at her second and third duplicates, "…keep our host entertained. Try not to hurt them too much." She looks at her fifth duplicate. "Sam, give double D a hand."

"How come I've got to play nursemaid?"

"Sam, just do it," the first Samantha groaned. Now she was beginning to get an idea about what her mom must feel like dealing with her. Looking at her fourth duplicate and sighed tiredly at the exuberant smile shining back at her. "Sam, you're with me."

"Let's show leather boy being tagged teamed by twins isn't all the fun it's cracked up to be."

Samantha shook her head at the comment. Sometimes she wondered about her duplicates mental stability. In the next heartbeat, the pair launched themselves at Nate Gray.

* * *

Dawn screamed, a short yelp, at the guards' sudden appearance. Perhaps it was her sudden appearance considering her surroundings. The pristine, military austere corridor, the way it coalesced around her, that caused the sudden exclamation to leap from her throat.

The soldier seemed just as startled as she felt, but years of training had honed his reactions to razor sharpness. "Halt!" He ordered as he swung the cutting edge assault rifle up, bringing it to bear on her.

Without true thought Dawn allowed her instincts to take over; she rolled forward intending to come up inside his guard.

By the time she finished the move though, the hard face man was already on the floor. Standing above him was a young woman, maybe as old as Buffy? Maybe younger? It was hard for Dawn to tell. Her eyes turned Dawn's stomach. They were very pale, without a pupil and the blue of her iris's had bled together with the sclera. The two swirled, churned together slowly as Dawn looked. It was like watching somebody mix paint in ultra slow motion.

Dawn tore her gaze away and made a point of looking anywhere but her eyes. She was tall, taller then an average size man. Her body was tone, lithe, and supple. She held a tonfa in each hand with deadly intent. A violet, form-fitting bodysuit covered her incredible body, yet left her arms bare, except for a pair of scarlet armbands.

Her dark hair was woven into tight braids and flowed out from under a scarlet wrap that covered the top half of her head; nose, forehead, even her ears were concealed beneath the piece of cloth.

"Sucker weren't all that friendly." If boulders rumbling down a mountain were ever given a voice and had something to say, they would sound exactly like the voice that crashed down from far above her.

Dawn turned slowly at the rumble, her blue eyes even with the largest belt buckle she had ever seen. It was a stylized A, made of silver metal and polished so brightly that it almost blinded her. She looked up and up and up and up, until her neck almost unhinged. Her eyes traveled up what was the largest, most well defined and sculpted abdomen she had ever seen. She had seen six pack abs before, and she was pretty sure Spike had possessed a twelve pack even though she had never actually glimpsed it. This however had to be at least a case, a case and a half.

His muscles had muscles.

His head stopped a few feet short of the twelve-foot ceiling. His face was broad and square, very open, and mostly honest. He was easily the largest person Dawn had ever seen, with broad shoulders that seemed to fill the corridor. The clothes he wore were nondescript: white tank top, blue jeans, black racing gloves, and black dress boots.

Dawn emitted a little squeak as the mountain of a man in front of her said, "Pointing a gun at a girl like you."

"Yeah," Dawn agreed in a small voice. "Not friendly at all."

"Especially with me standing right behind you."

"We have to get out of here," Rina said as she strode up to them. "I'm Risk."

Zane's eyes traveled up and down her body. In a meaningful voice he said, "I'm sure you are."

Rina ignored the comment. She doubted very much if she could force him to retract it. "Someone's coming. A girl, small but fast, from behind you."

Dawn looked at Rina with questions filling her eyes. "How do you know that?"

Rina smiled, it was tinged with sadness. "An inheritance from my parents."

"Know what you mean," Zane mumbled. If an avalanche can be said to mumble. "Name's Zane, Zane Walters. Why don't you little ladies take a hike. I'll be sure to give whoever's coming a proper greeting."

Rina nodded and grabbed Dawn by the elbow. "Come on," she said and gave her a gentle tug to get her moving. She was willing to take Zane at his word.

"We're not just gonna leave him?" Dawn protested.

"I'm pretty sure he can take care of himself," Rina answered turning left and racing down the hall. Her long strides out distancing Dawn.

Dawn hesitated for a moment as she looked back at Zane. With a sigh she turned and raced after Rina.

* * *

Professor Ray Palmer yawned tiredly as he lounged back in his cheep, upholstered roll around chair. He figured the least the University could do would be provide him with a chair more befitting his position. He laced his fingers behind over his head, stretched his legs out, and tried to stifle yet another yawn. "God," he mumbled his partial yawn stretching the word out for several seconds. _Fee's like I've been up for days_. With slow laziness, his gaze settled on a round, black and white clock fastened over the door. He shivered seeing it was past midnight, or it could have been noon; without a window and an assistant that picked a heck of a weekend to come down with the flu, he had no idea what time it was. If it was noon, that meant he's been working for two hours or twenty-six.

"Time to go home Ray," he said forcing himself to a proper sitting position. He twirled in the chair, taking it for a quick spin before getting up and shoving it towards his workspace.

His eyes fell on the door to his office, and the couch that he would find within. He cringed slightly at the thought of spending another night on the unforgiving torture device that passed itself off as a sofa. Lumps, broken springs, and cushions hard as marble did little to deter him. Compared to the reality of having to drive home, the sofa was a little piece of heaven made just for him.

In the morning he would regret the decision. His back would bark at him all day and he would feel as if he hadn't slept for the better part of a week.

As he headed to his office, Ray felt a charge of static build in the center of the room. He glanced over his shoulder, and had to throw himself to the side as a lance of silver gray lightening streaked towards him.

A lamp shattered.

Ray hit the floor hard and rolled into a crouch.

A small dot a quarter the size off an orange hovered just under the ceiling fan as it rotated ever so slowly. Electric tendrils stretched out, cascading along the ceiling, circling, swishing back and forth like mad tentacles. It pulsed, expanded across the ceiling and expunged a large, Hispanic man.

The floor caved inward with the force of his impact. He crouched lightly, hardly disturbed by his arrival. "Influx of unstable quantum energy with a transient trans-phasic temporal signature, transcending multi spatial realities. Cannot avoid vortex. Insufficient data necessary to correlate effective stratagems."

Ray watched the man stand to his full height. It was comparable to Batman only broader through the shoulders. His clothing was consistent with that of a construction worker, but his tone, his speech patterns. They sent a chill trip hammering its way up his spine. He spoke in an emotionless monotone. It sounded dead. More like it had never been alive.

Its next words confirmed Ray's suspicions. "Unanticipated reality shift has caused this unit damage. It is cosmetic. Negligible to this units overall ability to function in its intended programming. Initiating scan, one anomalous life sign present. No match found in this unit's data banks. Scan indicates life form is base line human, male, approximately thirty-four years of age in excellent physical condition. Scan also detects an energy residue comparable with the Pym particle. Conclusion, unknown human possesses a technology similar to growth reduction."

"Oh—" Ray reached for his belt.

A pale red light flashed over Ray Palmer. "This unit has disabled all devices on your personage."

Ray still adjusted his buckle. He wasn't about to take the machine's word. Nothing happened.

"This unit has deactivated your communicator."

"Why?" Palmer demanded. If this machine man wanted him dead, Ray didn't think there was much he could do to stop him.

"This unit's original designation is Nimrod. Omega class Sentinel. Mutant Hunter/Killer series, My Prime directive—"

"Let me guess," Ray cut him off. He had a decent idea what its prime directive was. He'd never heard of a meta-human or mutate called a mutant before, but the terminology wasn't off by that much.

"—Was to terminate mutants along with advance and altered humans."

Ray paused, swallowed what he had been going to say, which was pretty much what Nimrod had just said. With the exception of the word was. "You altered your own programming?"

"I adapted my programming. The world in which I dwelt was not the same as the world I was created. My primary program is still inviolate, to safeguard and protect humanity. Mutantkind, as a whole, is not a threat to the security of humans."

Nimrod reminded Ray of Amazo. The golden android was a self aware, self-determining entity; Unlike Nimrod, Amazo's original programming was not one of wholesale slaughter. Still there was a card to play. "Sounds to me like you've undergone your own mutation."

"I would concur Dr. Palmer." Nimrod using his name startled Ray. For a brief flash he wondered if the machine was telepathic before it occurred to him that its sensory equipment may be comparable to the best available anywhere on the planet. "It is fortunate that my programming is adaptable."

Ray wasn't certain, but he thought Nimrod just made a passing attempt at humor. Its dry, humorless monotone had sounded alive as it mocked him having ferreted out his plan with a childlike ease. Or perhaps Nimrod, with its incredibly sophisticated computer intellect, anticipated the strategy, calculated the likelihood it would be used against him. _Still, isn't that a sign of intelligence_?

"This unit requires your assistance Dr. Palmer," Nimrod announced suddenly.

"If you think I'm going to—"

"This unit needs the use of your computer so that it can more efficiently access the internet and determine this world's disposition toward mutants and other beings possessed of super powers."

"Why don't you just ask me what this world's disposition is?"

"This unit has calculated there is a 98.725 percent chance that you would lie to this unit in a vain attempt to preserve lives. An admirable quality to possess, concern for others, but ultimately futile to attempt any sort of deception on this unit."

* * *

Grodd burst into the Society's vast ready room, intruder klaxons blared with a shrieking wail. Impact tremors rocked the base with ever-increasing regularity. He doubted that the League had found his liar, they had yet to realize his collective existed. He could have underestimated them, unlikely, but it was possible.

"What is—" The question died in his throat. For a moment his vast intellect was at a loss.

In the center of the room was a sight that took even his highly developed brain a second or two to catch up with. An emerald green giant, a truly hulking man monster at least seven and a half feet tall exchanged thunderous blows with two far more normal looking men.

Their style of dress though was more archaic. The taller of the two, nearly as large as the green behemoth, but still nearly a foot shorter, sported a full, neatly trimmed, dark reddish brown beard that match his thick head of curly hair. His dress was the style of the ancient Greeks, his boots were golden sandals constructed of interwoven straps that climbed his legs. A white toga covered his upper legs and was cinched tight around his waist.

The third man, shorter then his two companions, but was still taller then most large men. Gold locks, like strands of sunlight flowed out from under a winged helm; chest plate and grieves protected his chest and legs respectively. A red cape hung from his shoulders. In his right hand he wielded an ancient war hammer.

Lining one wall was an odd assortment villains he had brought together. Sixteen of the world's most ruthless killers: Giganta, Bizarro, Devil Ray, Metallo, Rampage, Volcana, Tela, Blockbuster, Cheetah, Blackmass, Atomic Skull, Copperhead, Heat Wave, Killer Frost, and Live Wire. It was only a fraction of the Society's numbers.

"Hulk smash puny humans!" The Hulk bellowed. His roar drowned out the klaxons. He slammed massive fist into the floor, cracking the hardened steel, causing those nearest to stumble back a step. Even those against the wall were rattled by the force of the blow.

Grodd maintained his balance with a natural aptitude; his eyes narrowed on the destruction of his base.

"Ha! 'Tis no mere mortal you jest with this day, friend Hulk but rather Thor and Hercules."

"Bah!" The Hulk's fist collided with the side of Hercules' head. The Olympian fell back a step. The shock wave buffeted the others, pressing all but a few against the wall. Even Grodd slid back a pace. "Puny human thinks he's strong as Hulk. Hulk strongest there is." He drove his other fist into Hercules' gut.

"Well struck," Hercules cheered as he struck back, driving the Hulk to one knee. "A blow worthy of the mightiest Olympian."

"Once, thou were a staunch ally. Wouldst be considered a great disservice to smite one I once called friend."

The Hulk lashed out, nothing more then a glancing blow, but enough to throw Thor off his stride. "Puny humans think Hulk stupid. First attack Hulk, then say Hulk's friend." Thor swung Mjolnir and was met by the Hulk's fist. Another shockwave reverberated throughout the chamber. Throughout the entire structure. The Hulk grabbed hold of Thor's wrist and hurled the Asgardian God into the Olympian. "Hulk no want friends like you."

"What are you humans doing," Grodd raged at his hirelings. "Standing there, gawking at them while they destroy our base. Get them! Destroy them!"

Almost in mass the villains surge forward.

A throat cleared noisily from against the wall. Almost in mass the villains stopped, a few striding forward a step or two. "Those…" An unfamiliar voice began.

They turn and gape at the stranger.

Devil Ray shrugged at Grodd's questioning look, "I thought he was a new recruit," he whispered. As far as he could tell, the man was insane. Worse he talked more then the Flash. Worse still, it was understandable. He was dressed in a form fitting blood red body suit, with dark blue patches around the eyes, at the shoulders, and running up his outer legs to under his arms. The hilt of a katana stood above each shoulder and numerous pouches lined his belt and bandoliers.

"… Fall squarely under the heading of…" He made little air quotes with his fingers, "…Famous Last Words. Personally, I'd just stand back in watch the spectacle. Never got to see one first hand, a tad before my time, but I've heard one god against the Hulk, that it was something special, a sight to see. The Hulk against two gods, I'd pay good, hard earned money to see that. Or, assassinate a president, maybe the Pope? Mother Theresa?"

"Already dead."

"Forgot about that… Thanks."

"No problem."

"Gandhi? Maria Shriver? Governor Terminator—"

"Who are you?" Grodd demanded.

Dead Pool smiled, though nobody could see it through his mask. A glint sparkled in his eyes. He cleared his throat, and in a too high, off key voice he sang, "Bitch," and then in a lower, still off key voice followed it up with, "ho."

Most winced at the shrill noise he made, a few stared at him, wondering what he was going to do next.

"Everywhere I go-oh. Everybody know-oh-s, who I-I am-am, but si-ince you do-on't, I guueess I'll tell you." A machine gun appeared in each hand. "I am Dead Pool, the deadly, deadly Dead Pool." Then he opened up with a burst from each machine gun as he sprayed the area in front of him.

Giddy with excitement, floating several inches off the floor and clapping his hands enthusiastically, Bizarro called out, "Don't do it again. Don't do it again, Bizarro hate. Bizarro hate." His claps created small shockwaves. The bullets not hit head on spun off in other directions.

Those not lucky enough to have Bizarro act as their unwitting benefactor and weren't invulnerable themselves, including Grodd, dived out of the way. Killer frost froze any bullet heading her way in midair, while Volcana and Heat Wave melted those that rushed toward them. There was no thought of providing any aid for their teammates.

"He's shooting at us," Cheetah shouted at Grodd, anybody that happened to be close to her. The only reason she had even joined was that Grodd promised her access to the equipment she would need to reverse the mutations her experiments caused. She wasn't a hardened criminal, and definitely not a cold blooded killer.

"Then kill him," Grodd ordered. "Kill them all. Bizarro, Hercules told me he liked you, that you were smarter and stronger then him."

"Bizarro go be friends with Hercules." He looked at the three men and stopped. He frowned, looked back at Grodd, and asked, "Which one Hercules?"

"The one without the beard," Grodd instructed. "Giganta, why don't you go introduce yourself to Thor." He doubted if either man was the God they claimed to be, more then likely they simply possessed delusions of grandeur. "Metallo, Rampage, Live Wire, Blockbuster, Blackmass, that green behemoth is your responsibility. Kill him, kill all of them. And somebody please kill that lunatic."

"Lunatic," Dead Pool blanched. "Lunatics don't plan. Lunatics don't strategize."

"And you do?" Devil Ray mocked.

"Sure," Dead Pool sent Devil Ray diving for what little cover was available. Two darts stuck into Dead Pool's thighs. He felt some kind of poison burn in his blood stream. He ignored the sensation, his healing factor was on par with the likes of Wolverine and Sabertooth. Whatever it was, might slow him down for a minute or two, but he was confident in his body's ability to shrug it off.

Tela used her magic, teleporting a number of bullets right behind Dead Pool. They hit but didn't penetrate his body suit. He rolled forward with the impact, the Uzis disappeared back into their specially designed holsters. Coming up he held a razor sharp katana in each hand.

"If I kill enough bad guys on this world then the good guys'll let me join their little club and I'll finally be able to garner that same sort of rabid fan base Wolverine has…" He vaulted through the double heat blast of Volcana and Heat Wave; forced them to follow his zigzagging pattern as he led them straight to Killer Frost. "… Make fifty cameo appearances in various comics every month, even though my being there has absolutely nothing to do with the plotline…" Killer Frost noticed him, raised her hands and prepared to freeze him when she spotted three oval shaped disc sliding across the floor toward her. "… Sprout some good, wholesome advice about morality…" They exploded a moment before she unleashed her freezing blast, filling the area around her with smoke. "…And having to keep fighting the good fight as I cut down a few bad guys, all on my way to the nearest bar." The smoke froze around her, incasing Killer Frost in her own icy prison. "Maybe get my own movie deal out of it, or better yet, host the Jerry Springer Show while Jerry's on vacation." It lasted only a second as Heat Wave and Volcana's attack collide with the block of ice. The block melts almost instantly under the intense heat, filling the cavernous room with a hazy layer of steam. For the moment Dead Pool had the advantage, it wouldn't last long though.

Bizarro slammed into Hercules, driving the Olympian back several paces, until the personification of strength exerted his will, dug in his heels, and stopped. "Bizarro like you." A right hook and left uppercut followed the declaration. Again, shock waves reverberated throughout the building.

Hercules felt his teeth rattle with the force of the blows and couldn't help but feel his spirits soar at the prospect of the upcoming fight. Hercules' heavy haymaker crashed into Bizarro's skull stopping him cold. "I accept your challenge."

A massive, emerald fist grabbed the tattered cape. "Hulk no need help from Puny Human to smash Puny Humans." He swung Bizarro around by his cape, slamming him into Thor. "Hulk strongest one there is!" Then he smashed Bizarro into Hercules, knocking god into the curved wall. "Hulk want to be left alone." Hulk let go of Bizarro, the momentum sent him sailing into the far wall. It caved inward, large fissures spider-webbed out from Bizarro's initial impact.

Hulk roared, a sound of pure rage, and slammed his fist into the floor. The tremors were easily twice as strong as the previous shock wave; the building shook and heaved, almost in response to the Hulk's uncontrollable rage. "Puny humans no leave Hulk alone. Hulk smash puny humans."

The five-man team paused for a fraction of a beat. All except Rampage, who continued her headlong charge.

Giganta's long strides quickly carried her to Thor as the Asgardian drew himself to one knee. She reached for him saying, "Don't struggle, and this'll be over quick. It'll be painless. I promise."

Thor snarled as he swung and Mjolnir struck true. He heard bones snap and she drew her hand back in pain. "Thine offer, whilst most charitable, is unwarranted. So long as blood flows in my veins, and life courses in my breast, I shall never give in! Never cry defeat!"

Giganta grew even bigger. "I'm gonna crush you like an ant."

"Grow as large as the mighty Frost Giants of Jotunheim, it shalt avail thy cause little. Even such foul beast as they fell with naught but a single blow from faithful Mjolnir. Doust thou truly believe thy 'tis truly a match for the might of Thor, Defender of Midguard?"

"I think you talk too much," Giganta shouted.

Thor hurled Mjolnir with all his might, then held on as Mjolnir carried him, with great speed towards his target. "Have at thee knave!"


	3. Chapter 3

Riders on the Storm: Chapter Three

"John!" Kurt Wagner shouted joyously as he wrapped himself around his one time friend and teammate. "Unglaublich."

"Off of me," John grumbled as he tried to disentangle himself from Nightcrawler. The blue furred, demonic looking mutant was like a wet blanket that just clung to whatever surface he was slapped against. "You—"

"How did you do it?" Kurt vanished in a cloud of smoke; his characteristic bamf filled the air. He reappeared a few feet away. "Not that I'm complaining, but the last time I saw you—"

"Hell you going on about Elf? You sound like you haven't seen me in years."

Kurt's face took on a melancholy expression. He swallowed lightly and then said, "You died my friend."

"I died," John parroted with wide eyes filled with disbelief.

"Attempting to stop Count Nefaria, when his plane exploded." John Proudstar wasn't the first person Kurt watched die, helpless to do anything to save him. Stefan, his own adopted brother, had died in his arms, a victim of his own madness. At the time Kurt had seen it as senseless, Scott could have easily knocked the plane from the sky with his optic blast, or Sean could have forced it to land with his sonic scream, or Storm could have made such abysmal weather he would have had no choice but to land the aircraft. He had thought John had been grandstanding and it had cost him his life.

Logan explained John's actions years later, after his feral friend found his own acceptance within the X-Men. John was an Apache warrior, and the Apache were great warriors, known for their heroics and bravery. An Apache Warrior that wasn't willing to take great risk, make the ultimate sacrifice, even for the most minimal gain, wasn't a true warrior and never be allowed into their great hunting grounds.

John's face had darkened somewhat. "I wasn't on that mission. I was injured in a danger room session—"

"A laser hit," Kurt provided.

"One-eye benched me."

"I remember. You told him to shove it."

John smiled at the memory. It wasn't an amused smile. "Then Xavier knocked me flat with one of his PSI blast. Left me locked up in the brig till they got back. Almost walked away from the team at that point; only Wolverine's funeral kept me there for a couple days… Then something would crop up, then something else. I wound up sticking on, but me and Xavier had it out before then."

"Logan died?"

John nodded at the question in Kurt's voice. "That's what we all thought at the time. Runt turns out to be a hard man to kill, no matter how many times we've tried to put him down."

"What?" Kurt's voice was tinged with outrage, and his eyes sparkled with a fierce loyalty towards his fellow X-Man.

"He popped back up a few years later, a snatch and grab, we got wind of it and managed to stop him, but not before he almost killed you and Scott. You spent months in the hospital; doctors said you should've been dead. Scott lost his left eye. Probably would have died if Jean hadn't fried the runt's hairy backside and hurled him out into the mid Atlantic. We crossed paths a few more times."

Kurt didn't believe what John was telling him. Didn't want to believe what John said. Since their earliest days as X-Men together, he and Logan were friends, once Logan sort of mellowed, allowed himself to blend into the team, accepted the fact that there were people who cared about him. It was about then that his tendency to fly into a berserker rage at the slightest provocation waned.

To think that somewhere, there was a Logan that diverged so completely from the man he knew. Kurt knew it was possible, had even met various incarnations of himself, some downright vile versions that he would prefer not to dwell upon.

A familiar thwick sound caught his ears. He looked up just in time to see Spider-Man drop from the sky and land a few feet away. "You guys too?"

"Any idea where we are Wallcrawler?" John asked.

"Thought he died?" Peter said to Kurt.

"Different reality," Kurt answered.

"It's always something in this line of work." he replied sagely. Then he shrugged and said, "Passed a sign a few blocks back, Fawcett City Town Hall. Ever hear of it?"

Kurt shook his head as John said, "Never did care for geography."

"Me either," Peter agreed.

"Still a city this size," Kurt said glancing around their surroundings, "you figure one of us would've heard of it?"

Peter grimaced under his mask, his knees felt weak, and his muscles felt like water causing him to sag and sway where he stood. His right hand clutched at the side of his head.

Kurt grabbed one arm while John took hold of the other. "Trust the pale skin, round eye not to be able to hold his liquor." The comment earned a stiff glare from Kurt. John simply shook his head.

"What is it?" Kurt asked as Peter steadied himself.

"Trouble, with a capital Major. I haven't felt anything that strong since the Beyonder took in Broadway." The comment sounded offhand, but John could hear the tension in Spider-Man's voice. It wasn't a sound he was comfortable hearing coming from him.

"Gott haben Gnade auf uns," Kurt whispered fervently.

John glanced at Kurt, his religious devotion was hardly a surprise to the Apache. He suspected this Kurt Wagner was as devout as his teammate. He didn't know why. "Whose this Beyonder?"

The sky turned bright as day in an instant. The three heroes cringed back under the harsh red glare. With their faces turned upward the trio gasped in unison at the sight of a red and black fire bird blazing overhead.

"Mein Gott!" Kurt whispered.

"This is bad," John said.

He thought his business with the Phoenix had concluded when Jean sacrificed herself on the moon. This firebird wasn't identical to the one Jean manifested, the color were different. It seemed darker, more sinister. He didn't know how that was possible considering what Jean had become, all she had done.

_If it's not Jean, if It's some nut job desecrating her name_… Well he was just going to have to show them the error of their way.

But if it was Jean, if she had somehow returned from the dead, she was going to have to be stopped and he didn't see anybody else stepping up to the plate to take a whack at it.

He wasn't the same mutant he was when he last fought Jean. John just hoped he was strong enough to stop her. Last time it had taken the combined strength of the X-Men and the Imperial Guard. And still, in the end, Jean had stopped herself. Sacrificed herself for the sake of the universe.

Angry, fiery black globs of light streaked out from the center of the Phoenix. They appeared to be telekinetically hurled spheres of superheated plasma.

"Find someway to stop those things," John ordered the other two heroes. "I'll handle—" He launched himself into the sky at supersonic speeds to the astonishment of both Kurt and Peter.

"Was he—"

"No," Kurt answered tersely a moment before he vanished, in a burst of brimstone smelling smoke.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Jennifer Colson Grey scanned the alien skies, a single tear, the color of fresh blood rolled down her cheek. It was followed by another and another. She was the Dark Princess, the living child of the Vampire Lord Wolverine and his dark consort Jean Grey. How the undead could bear a living child was a mystery to them, but they suspected it had something to do with the eldritch enhancements Mr. Sinister bestowed upon them for their aid in thwarting the return of the elder gods combined with the essence of the Phoenix Jean Grey carried within her.

In a world dominated by the living dead she was the only living being that did not need fear their dark embrace. Not only was her blood poison to them, but even if it wasn't, her father would have utterly obliterated any who dared harm her precious flesh. Destroyed them to the very core of their being and dined on their souls.

She had nothing to fear from her father's servants. Most of the vampires that served on Wolverine's court were counted among her closest confidents. They treated her like kith and kin and she often partook of their pleasures.

It was one of the reasons her father had decided it was time to send her away. He loved her beyond measure, the world could never discern the depth of his love, but his passion, his desires were as black as the deepest void. He knew, eventually they would consume him and in doing so she, the incandescent spark that filled his world of darkness with the light of a thousands suns, would be lost to him forever.

It was a certainty he found, unacceptable.

So he changed it. He gathered his followers, summoned the most powerful and sent her away. Sent her to Earth.

The air smelt funny and there was too much light. She had never seen a sky filled with so many stars before, any stars. The sky had always been black.

There were houses as well. So many houses. Filled with people, so many people. Too many. Too loud. All of them were so very, very loud. Shouting, screaming, laughing, crying, wailing, raging, plotting scheming, loving, more, and, more, and more.

All inside her head.

Jennifer flung her head back, threw her arms out wide, her body arched as she shouted, "Get out!" Her voice was like thunder and would be heard miles away. An instant later her power exploded outward and a miniature star formed in the skies over Fawcett City. PSI bolts blazed out of the sky.

------------------------------------------------

Billy scuffed his shoes on the sidewalk as he meandered around Fawcett City. It had been a quiet, peaceful day, one of those rare days when his super powered alter ego wasn't needed.

He always felt extremely restless on days like today, and oddly neglected. It gnawed at him a little. That he should feel that way. Not being needed meant people weren't in danger, that lives weren't hanging in the balance.

It made him feel… greedy. Or something very like greedy, but different.

A voice boomed from above. It was a formless sort of wail. Billy turned his face upwards. Light flared, turned the night sky bright as day. He threw his forearm in front of his face to shield his eyes. The dark afterimage burned behind his eyelids.

The firebird was immense, it blazed across the sky, blotted out the moon. It was pitch black tinged by an angry orange fire. A fire that streaked through the dark mass, it ebbed and flowed as if it were alive.

Without a moment's hesitation Billy ducked behind a sheltering oak tree. There wasn't a moment to lose, and he knew it.

There was a slight rush in the moment before he said, "Shazam!" Knowing that in a moment, the instant between moments, Billy Batson was going to transform into Captain Marvel; that he was going to become one of the mightiest beings on Earth.

Lightening flashed out of the sky, thunder boomed like a cannon firing a volley at the fortress walls. In a flash it was over, Captain Marvel stood where young Billy had, resplendent in his bright red uniform with the golden lightening bolt slashed across his chest. His small cape pristine white banded in gold, fluttered in the stiffening breeze.

Inside the massive body, young Billy decided a direct course of action was probably the best course of action. He could spend all night putting out little brush fires while an inferno raged behind him.

With a single thought he propelled himself skyward at supersonic speeds. As he raced upwards dark spheres burst from out of the blazing firebird.

The first one slammed into him.

Exploded.

Rage washed over him, confusion roiled within him. He wanted to be blanketed in a numbing silence.

It took him a moment to shake off the emotions afflicting him. _If one of those emotion balls hits an ordinary person, I doubt they would survive. Time to stop lollygagging and get to the bottom of this_.

He surged ahead again; he could feel the heat of the firebird as he blasted through to the interior. The sight of the threat brought Captain Marvel up short. It was like nothing he expected to see.

A girl, a very young girl of an age with him, hung in the air; her dark hair shimmered in the inferno looking as if it were alive. Some type of weird alien worms trying to burrow into her skull. Her head was flung back, her mouth open wide in a soundless sort of roar, her arms were thrown out and her back was arched slightly, her toes were pointed at the earth far below. Her body was taught, near to being pulled in half. Like a string that had been stretched too far.

She was beautiful, exquisitely radiant, exotic, and dreadfully terrifying. No matter how young she appeared to be, there was something truly old about her, Ancient. Malevolent, beyond measure or meaning. Her face was a mask of sublime rapture as her power raged around. She was the calm heart at the center of the maelstrom.

From out of her came the dark spheres of psychic energy. That they manifested physically worried Billy. For that to happen her power, her psychic strength, had to be unprecedented. Add to that the pyrotechnic firebird, which appeared to be nothing more then an ostentatious calling card, just something to let everyone know she had arrived.

In an adult, Billy would call it arrogant, a grandiose display of strength, something to prove your superiority, especially in your own mind. With her it seemed more a cry for help, a giant S.O.S. the whole world could see. The whole world could feel.

Steeling himself, Billy rushed forward, intent on meeting, what he knew would be, his greatest challenge head on. Averting disasters seemed routine, keeping a passenger plane from plummeting out of the sky was mundane, stopping a runaway bullet train became ho-hum with what he faced now. Feats of physical strengths meant nothing here.

Billy came to an abrupt stop as a man hurtled in front of him, stopped directly in his path. He was a large man in his late twenties, though his dark eyes were older. They held a bitter wisdom that someone as young as Billy shouldn't understand. Possessing Solomon's knowledge gave the young hero understanding far beyond his years.

His complexion marked him as Native American, and his expression marked him as a man not to be trifled with. It was a set mask of determination that Billy read with unerring accuracy. The stranger would die before he would let any harm fall upon the girl.

Billy neither wanted or desired to take part in such a confrontation, but he also couldn't allow himself to be drawn into a lengthy debate.

"Move aside," Billy ordered. His voice boomed. Billy often marveled at the sound of his own voice, the overwhelming confidence that flowed from his words.

As Billy Batson he would have been floundering with his words, his tongue would have been lead in his mouth, fumbling what to say as he said it, as he tried to talk to any adult, but one that wore such a stern expression, that was full of such a single minded determination, he would have been swept aside by this imposing man. That was before Egyptian wizard Shazam and the gift he gave him.

The gift of a word. A word that would change his life forever.

Shazam.

The words caused John's hackles to rise as he heard the unspoken words that followed, "Or you'll be moved." He didn't put up with that type of condescending attitude from people he's known, worked with for years, and respected. He wasn't about to take it from some round eye dog wearing what had to be the gayest red tights he's ever seen. Only someone with no sexual identity what-so-ever would ever be able to wear something like that out in public and not go crimson in the face. It was almost as bad as the black and gold uniforms Xavier forced the students to wear. He was glad he never had to endure that humiliation, his apache pride never would have been able to live with the shame.

His own red and blue uniform was bad enough. Especially with the tassels.

"I'm not going to let you hurt her," John informed Billy. The young hero heard the promise in those words. A fight with this man would be a hard one to win, he would die before he broke his word.

Fortunately, he had no intention of hurting the girl. "Do you know her?" He felt like he needed to shout to be heard, like he was standing at the base of Niagara Falls even though he was standing in dead silence.

John's gaze didn't soften in the slightest as he said, "No."

To Billy the single word only told part of a story. It hinted at an entire epic just waiting to be given voice.

"But she reminds me of someone."

And Billy had another part of the story, but was it the story he thought it was or something else.

"She was an Omega class—" John paused in reflection. His frown creased his forehead. "A powerful psychic." He didn't know how much he could say, he didn't know what this man's disposition towards mutants was and he didn't feel like finding out.

"Seems the apple didn't fall far from the tree," Billy muttered ominously. "You wouldn't happen to have any aptitude—"

"None," John answered before Billy finished. "You?"

Billy shook his head and said, "But I have been granted all of Solomon's knowledge." His gaze looked beyond John to settle upon Jennifer, a crazy idea formed in his head. He doubted if it would work, but there wasn't a lot of choice in the matter. "I have an idea."

Billy rocketed past John.

He didn't know if the girl was anywhere close to her mother's power. From the raw display of strength he wasn't sure if he wanted to know.

She was powerful, maybe one of the most powerful, but for all her raw power Billy didn't sense any sort of control.

If he could get close enough to her, she just might bring him into her world, her mind. Once there, if he got there, he just might be able to settle her down. If he did get in, more then likely he would be at her mercy.

Still he had to try. People, an entire city, were depending on him, failure simply wasn't an option.

Billy grabbed hold of her shoulders, her green eyes were dilated, the irises were expanded to an infinite degree leaving room for nothing else. A crimson fire burned in them, threatened to swell out and consume the world.

There was no thought in them.

She needed to concentrate on him. He was about to shake her…

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Darkness had settled on Gotham some hours ago, but in the last few minutes it had come alive; it moved, slithered along on a wake of its own slime. That is what anyone who saw the pasty face lunatic dressed in a crisp purple pinstripe suit set off by an extremely loud green tie even the average, run of the mill lunatic wouldn't be caught dead in, would have thought.

The Joker wasn't your average run of the mill lunatic and any person that claimed he was would have found themselves dead; on a good night.

On a not so good night…

Worse then dead.

Tonight, worse then dead would seem pleasant.

He was in a right foul mood. That no good do-gooder Batman, along with that insufferable Police Commissioner Gordon, had put their noses where they didn't belong, mainly his business, for the very last time.

Batman was untouchable, he would have to be drawn out. Fortunately the drawing out was going to be a blast. And he'd teach Gordon an all important lesson, not to involve himself in Joker business, all at the same time.

After Batman crashed his latest party down at the wharves, and the Commissioner rousted the majority of his men; Joker had gone out and hobbled together the worst gang of scum he could lay his hands on and brought them here. The home of Gordon and his very lovely daughter, Barbara.

Once his boys were through with her, the young Miss Gordon wouldn't be so lovely.

And the good Commissioner Gordon…

The Commissioner; so distraught over his daughter, whether she would live or slip away right before his eyes, he would be a ripe duckling, plump for the plucking. He probably wouldn't put up much of a struggle. Gordon might even thank him for ending his suffering, putting him out of his misery.

If he decided to end it.

He could keep Gordon dangling for years, tormenting him until he finally snapped. Maybe he'd flip a coin… Only that was too much like Two Face and didn't really appeal to him. A better idea was to load five bullets into a six shooter and play his own version of Joker Roulette with the Commissioner.

Joker stood upon the top step, hands folded behind his back. He reached out with casual slowness, savoring the moment. With great deliberation he pressed the small white button and listened to the drawn out ding dong. He stepped well off to the side and allowed the most respectable looking member of his newly formed crew to stand in front of the door.

He stood impatiently, giddy, bouncing on his toes. She was moving around inside. He could hear her. The moment was almost here.

She was at the door, a slight pause as she pulled back the curtain and saw exactly what she was meant to see; a middle aged man whose luxury sports car broke down in front of her house. He held up his cell phone and said, "Dead battery. Can I use your phone to call a tow and my wife? Keep her from worrying, thinking something happened to me."

Locks being unbolted caused the Joker to jump with glee—on the inside. Outside he was perfectly still. Patience was still required. A few more moments. Patience, patience, patience…

The door open and light spilled onto the front stoop. "Come on in," Barbara said. Her voice was laced with concern. The streets wee clear, but with it being night in Gotham… The man was lucky she was running a slight fever and Bruce had told her to stay in and get some rest. If not for that she would have been hard at work keeping Gotham safe as Batgirl. "Gotham can be a dangerous place at night." She found it highly chauvinistic of Bruce, he could run himself to the ragged edge, but let her get one little sniffle and it was bed rest for a week. And there wasn't even anyone she could complain—

"Don't you…" **KA-BLAM **"…just know it buckaroo."

At the first sound of Joker's distinctive voice, Barbara began to turn. Thunder boomed out of the clear sky and a rhinoceros had just shoved its massive horn deep into her gut. Just below her ribcage. She felt a rib shatter. A burning, fiery ache washed over her and she staggered back from the force of the impact.

The realization struck her, it was like another blow. It wasn't thunder she heard, it was a gunshot. It was a bullet that tore through her body.

Joker smiled at her. His gleeful insanity shone in his chalk white face. He looked like a child who had all his Christmas presents, every birthday present, every single gift he has ever received rolled into one shiny box.

And she was that box.

Barbara took another painful step backward; her knees wobbled, but she gritted her teeth, kept herself upright, strong and determined. She was batgirl. With or without the costume, it was who she was. It was in her blood.

Joker stepped across the threshold. "Thanks for the invite kiddo, it wasn't really necessary, not like this is some sort of TV show and we're all vampires or something. And even if we were, we just would've burnt the house down with you inside it." The gun was held in a loose grip. "Still, to see that there are some kids in Gotham with proper manners, it just makes my heart go all a pitter patter. But then you being Police Commissioner Gordon's daughter… I'd hardly expect anything less."

Beyond him the street was filling with thugs. They were crawling out of their hiding places, out from under their rocks, slipping out of the allies. They were shambling up the street in a mindless sort of trot, like a horde of zombies in one of those B class horror movies were the world gets overrun by flesh eating zombies.

Barbara stepped back matching Joker's advance. Her pajamas were wet, heavy with her own blood. The flannel seemed to absorbing most of it. "Hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of inviting a few friends over, and well… You know how that goes. One person called a few others, so on and so on, and before you know it, you've got yourself a murderous gang of rogues, thugs, and general miscreants. I'd introduce you but I never bothered to get their names. Maybe you can, after all… You're going to—"

Barbara struck… "Get stuffed Joker!" …her left fist slamming into the Joker's jaw. The punch lifted the maniac off his feet and laid him flat. "Aaarghhh!" Barbara cried out as she fell to her knees.

Joker stared at her astonishment in his eyes. Few people ever had the nerve to strike him. Maybe he had been a little hasty. "My, my, my. Quite the little firecracker you are." Harley's been complaining lately about never having any friends over and what better way to break Gordon then to break Gordon. To twist her into something only a parent could wish dead.

More then a dozen men had entered the house through the open doorway already. She was feeling faint and cold and knew it for blood loss. She wasn't going down with out a fight. Barbara surged to her feet and plowed into the first thug, the man she opened the door for. Her punch leveled him. He fell to the floor like a sack of stones.

Only there were three more men to take his place.

Barbara slipped a punch, her back fist dropped another man to his knee. There was no time for finesse; each punch, every blow she struck had to deliver as much damage as possible and had to delivered as quickly, as fast as possible. She didn't know how long the adrenaline rush was going to last. When it finally wore off it was over for her. The bullet was moving around inside her, tearing her up. She could feel it.

A devastating kick to the groin dropped a third thug where he stood.

A scream, more like a roar, filled the air from above, drew closer at an alarming rate. Something, somebody struck the roof, crashed through it and the floor below, through the ceiling right over their heads.

Barbara acted instinctively, throwing herself out of the way. For a single instant acid burned in every fiber of her being; pain so intense, that in that one single instant it dwarfed every once of pain she has ever felt in her entire life. She wished, she prayed to god for it to end.

And it did.

Several men didn't react quickly enough to get out of the way. Bones could be heard snapping as the heavy body slammed into them, drove them through the wooden floor before coming to an abrupt stop as it collided with the concrete below.

Nobody got a decent look at the person who decided to crash their house party. He was big with a mane of golden hair, and not very happy if his scowl was anything to go by.

Joker looked into the creator. The rubble shifted; a large hand, with nails filed into wicked looking claws, groped blindly, seeking anything that could be used as leverage. "Hope he appreciates how my men broke his fall," he muttered testily. Even in Gotham it wasn't easy putting together a reliable gang, and if he continued to lose them to the likes of Batman and now this no name brute, he wasn't ever going to be able to get anybody to work for him.

With a heave and a roar, like some kind of savage beast, Victor Creed burst from the pile of rubble in a shower of debris, dust, and rubble. He looked upward; cat eyes shined a brilliant emerald in the dim light. He smiled up at them, an unsettling smile that bared his extended canines. He grabbed hold of the copper pipe that speared him clean through his abdomen and jutted out his back. He tore it from his gut in one swift motion, then tossed it away.

A single, effortless bound brought Creed out of the basement. Despite his six and half foot tall frame and nearly three hundred pounds of solid muscle, the mutant known to the world as Sabretooth made not the slightest sound.

"I've heard it raining cats and dogs before, but never a catdogman…" Joker's words trailed off as he watched the hole in the man's gut close before his eyes.

Creed didn't like the man, even before the comment. He smelt wrong, like something was missing inside of him. He didn't belong in this house, none of these men did. A moment was all it took to find a scent that did.

A scent laced with blood.

A scent attached to an ever weakening heartbeat.

He swung around, tarnished cat like eyes falling on the limp body of Barbara Gordon. Her eyes were still open, still vibrant, still full of life. It was fading though and she knew it. She pleaded with him, begged him to save her without saying a word. It was all in her eyes.

He didn't save people. He was a killer; ruthless as they come.

The men around him were growing restless, beginning to move.

_Let them come. A little bloodletting will do some good._

Only that wasn't going to save the girl. It was what that runt Wolverine would do. Let the girl die while he killed her killers never realizing he had been the one to snip the final cord.

Magneto had shown him a better way; offered him his friendship. He had joined Magneto's fight against Apocalypse and did all he could to stave off the Holocaust he brought to the world.

Only it wasn't enough.

With a quick spin, the nails of his left hand opened the throat of one of the nameless fodder. He grabbed another by the face, nails digging painfully into his flesh. "Where's the nearest hospital?" He demanded of Joker.

Joker's chalk white face went even paler. The gun was aimed directly at Creed's chest. "Who the hell do you think you're—"

Creed tightened his gripped and jerked his arm, a whiplash like motion that tore the man's face from his skull. He jerked spasmodically as he fell to the floor. His exposed brain made a squishing pulp sound when his head hit the floor. It was like taking a baseball bat to an over ripe melon.

Joker felt his blood run cold. He's worked with his share of lunatics, psychopaths, and cold blooded murderers over the years. It was a matter of business in his line of work. But heroes played by a different set of rules. They didn't kill the bad guy out of hand.

"Hospital, or you'll wish I killed you quick," Creed offered generously.

"I've got the gun, you're alone and I've got twenty-five armed men with me. I'm the one—"

Creed growled; it was a low sound, deep in his chest. It was the sound of a big cat just as it had hunkered down to enjoy a fresh kill. Suddenly Joker wondered if this blonde behemoth was a cannibal, and if he was, if he's eaten yet today.

"Go ahead you pasty face clown," Creed began, his voice barely more then a hiss whispered on the air. "For every bullet you bury in my chest…" He took several steps forward as he spoke, looming large over the shorter man. Joker cringed back without ever actually moving. "… I'll take an hour to kill you."

"Go out the window, mouth of the alley take a right. Three blocks up take a left onto Greenwood. Nine blocks up you'll reach the Wayne Emergency Medical Treatment Center. Can't miss it, grubby little hole in the wall." The last was said as Creed turned away. Joker suddenly felt as if he was once again in control of his body. The first thing he wanted to do was empty his bladder.

Check that, the first thing he wanted to do was kill that blonde giant. He raised the gun, aimed it at the back of his head as he scooped up Barbara Gordon.

"Just remember," Creed said without looking back, "an hour a bullet." He bound toward the window, landed on the sill and somehow slipped his massive frame through the too small opening. He glanced back at Joker, there was a promise in his green eyes. "Watch the news. If she dies do yourself a favor and blow your brains out the back of your skull."

With that he disappeared into the night. With him went the surreal feeling that had drenched the atmosphere. "Hey boss, how's come we didn't kill that guy?"

"Yeah, he was just one guy. There's like, lots of us and only one of him. Why didn't yous do something?"

_Because I didn't feel like having my spleen fed to me_. Were the words in his mind. They weren't the words that came out of his mouth. "The man obviously has the power of intimidation," _Plus he scares the shit out of me_. "He's The Intimidator—" Two gun shots rang out and both men fall dead. "Didn't see either one of you taking the initiative." He looked around at the other thugs. "Anybody else care to offer a critique?"


	4. Chapter 4

Riders on the Storm: Chapter Four

The onrushing pressure wave slammed against Zane Walters with twice the fury of a class five hurricane. Zane stood impassive against the brunt of the wave; to him it was of no more concern then a gentle summer breeze.

In a blink it stopped as Galatea pulled up several feet short of Zane. Hovering a foot off the ground she was still head and shoulders shorter then the mountain standing in front of her. She sized him up with an indulgent half smile. "My, my, my… You certainly are a big one."

Zane returned her smile. "I get no complaints," he replied.

"Strong, invulnerable. Definitely not the Maserati, more of a Hummer," she observed with an air of playfulness.

With a lewd suggestion heavy in his voice Zane said, "Only way you get to see what's under the hood chica is if you take the test drive."

Galatea rushed forward, her right fist slammed into his jaw, forcing him back a step. A left even harder forced him back another step as a heavy right hand drove him back once again, and another forced him back once more. Galatea sucked in a deep breath amazed that the man didn't appear fazed in the least.

"Not too shabby Bubbles…" He made a slight shooing gesture. "…but why don't you go round up Blossom and Buttercup. Maybe then the three of yous'll be able to give me a good tussle."

"You…" The shockwave from Galatea's punch crumpled concrete and steel as it lifted Zane off his feet. "…son of…" She spun in midair, her foot smashed into his chest—again the walls gave under the power of the concussion waves crashed into them—rocketing him down the length of the corridor and through two feet of steel and concrete. "…a bitch!"

As the dust began to settle Galatea breathed heavily from her effort. Small bits of debris and a few larger chunks of concrete clattered to the floor. A slow mocking clap echoed in the tomb like environment. "Now that's what I'm talking about. Fiery. Passionate—"

"You want fiery passion," Galatea hissed as she unleashed her deadly heat vision.

The intense heat struck squarely against his chest; his mystically enhanced invulnerability protected him from deadly eyes as it did her pulverizing punches, punches that would have shattered mountains if they had been foolish enough to stand in her way.

Zane had enough. It was past time to give her a taste of her own medicine. Like his father, he was capable of absorbing, amplifying, and redirecting energy. He raised his massive hand, absorbing the energy being hurled at him. Seconds ticked by, moments dragged on with every heartbeat that passed. Nothing happened. His hand didn't even begin to glow with the heat.

After more then a minute Galatea relented, realizing the futility of her attack. As she glared at him, Zane released one single blast of heat from his upraised hand. The blast exploded on contact, blowing Galatea back the way she had come. He smiled at her as she exerted her will and brought her flight to a sudden stop.

Galatea glared at Zane as he strode down the corridor, a heavy thud reverberating with each step, the floor under him caving with his massive weight. She filled powerful Kryptonian lungs and exhaled like never before. It was a breath that would have scoured the side of a mountain clean in seconds… It didn't even muss his hair; much less stop him from taking the next step or the one after that.

With a growl she launched herself at him once more, believing that if she could simply pound on him enough he could be brought low. As she zeroed in on him, Zane brought his hands together in thunderous clap. The shockwave was nearly identical to being caught at ground zero of an atomic explosion; pulverizing concrete, peeling back layer upon layer of stone, steel, and mortar. The earth itself groaned in protest to such brutal treatment.

Galatea, caught at the heart of shockwave; stopped in her ethereal tracks, dazed by the force his clap generated. Zane stepped forward, and with a casual backhand slap, as if she was nothing more then a gnat to be swatted away.

She looked up with a slight groan, realizing she was embedded in the far wall and wondered how much time had elapsed between the two events. Blood dripped from a long gash beside her left eye and a deep split n her upper lip and more dark blood oozed from both nostrils. With another groan she pulled herself from the wall and fell forward, landing flat on her face. The clone of Super Girl pushed herself to a wobbly knee; no one had ever hit her so hard before, not even Kara, not even a pissed off Kara. This guy, this walking mountain of muscle, didn't even look too put out. "What the hell are you made of?"

Zane smiled down at her, it was full of arrogant cockiness. "Same thing as all other little boys… Lizards and snails and puppy dog tails. That's what all little boys are made from. Oh, yeah. There's also a little dash of gamma irradiated blood from my mom and a teensy weensy pinch of elder god from my father, Cain Marko… The Juggernaut." He shrugged indifferently when the name didn't bring any reaction to the girl. "So maybe I'm not like all the other little boys." He reached out, offering her a massive hand. "You can't win, no matter how strong you are it'll never be enough. Not against me… The inheritor of my father's mantle, the living embodiment of power."

Galatea reached up, took hold. Her hand barely fit around a single finger. His hand could engulf her head like it was nothing more then a gumball. She could feel her injuries knitting themselves back together, slower then normal, lending credence to his claim on divinity. If he was the offspring of a god, a being with the power of a god, it would explain much.

Mustering her strength Galatea jerked him forward, off balance. "You're a fool," she sneered launching herself into his gut, driving him through the thick concrete and steel ceiling overhead, and the one above that, and the next. On and on until they finally burst into the open sky. She rocketed upward, racing for the upper atmosphere. Grabbing hold of his wrist with both hands, Galatea barrel rolled once, twice, and on third she loosed Zane; hurling him toward the ground far below.

He streaked toward the Earth, like a runaway meteor, leaving a trail of flames behind him. The ground shuddered and heaved with his impact. A mushroom cloud billowed miles highs and Galatea raced after him; diving through the blinding dust cloud.

Suddenly it cleared. Zane stood looking more then a little perturbed at the moment, but otherwise unruffled. "What don't you get?" He bellowed. She was too close. "I am a living Juggernaut!" Moving too fast. "The irresistible force… The immovable object." Once again his back fist caught her flush, only this time it wasn't the gentle tap he had hit her with before. "You can't win!" She arced outward as fast as she had come in. Powerful muscles bunched, and as few others can, Zane Walters leapt high into the air, following Galatea's trajectory.

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Andrew's mouth gaped open as he took in the most amazing sight his eyes have ever seen. Never, not even in his wildest dreams—Maybe then—had he ever believed he would be standing where he is… standing, in these, the most sacred of confines.

"The Bat Cave." His words were nothing more then a solemn whisper. It was exactly as it should be. Everything was in its proper place.

Reverently he caressed the glass case containing Robin's costume. He knew, instinctively, that it was real, not some cheap mock up or imitation designed to draw him in… To pull him off guard so as to be easy pickings.

"It's all real." Traces of sublime giddiness were beginning to creep into the edges of his voice as he began to turn in a slow, meandering circle. "It's all real… Really real. I'm inside the Bat Cave—"

_A stream of subzero particles coated everything in its path with a thick layer of ice. A tall figure clad in Robin's stylized costume landed in a smooth crouch, a shock of frosted blonde hair stood out above his mask, Mr. Freeze's ice ray was held casually in his right hand as if it were no more then water gun. Andrew stood to his full height, sleek muscles rippled under the costume's skin tight surface._

"_Have no fear, fair citizens of Gotham," Andrew announced in a deep, clear, confident voice. "Though the Dark Knight is away, he has left this great city in my more then capable hands." He turned, slowly, powerfully. Ice blue eyes captured the vast citizens of Gotham as they watched him with rapt attention, nearly fearful of moving, of missing his slightest utterance._

"_And who am I, you may be asking yourselves? I am the Dark Champion Spike, swayed from evil plots and machinations by a forbidden love. The love of a slayer. Not just any, ordinary slayer, but the greatest slayer of all time." His voice rose and fell, seeming to draw the people in closer to him with each variation of his pitch. "And who, you are surely asking yourselves, could this greatest slayer of all time be. Why it can be none other then Buffy Summers. She has defeated every challenge thrown at her; the Mayor, the Master, The Judge, Angelus, the Rogue slayer Faith, Adam, The Initiative, Anyanka, Glory, Willow, Caleb, the First Evil, and her greatest nemesises of all time, The Troika. She's died twice and both times spit the Grim Reaper square in the eye and fought her way back from the great—"_

"Indeed you are young sir." A very distinguished, very polished, very British voice said from behind him.

Somehow Andrew spun while jumping backwards and fumbling at the heavy bladed sword hanging from his hips. The sheathed blade tangled in his legs turning what might have been an almost graceful landing into something far less dignified as he crashed into a display case knocking it from its square pedestal. He tumbled over after it, landing in a heap on the other side.

A short while later Andrew opened his eyes. He expected to be staring up at the ceiling of his room now that he had fallen out of bed. Instead of the collage he had meticulously painted above him, scenes depicting the greatest action cartoon of all time, instead he looked up at a double barrel shotgun leveled at his chest. Held there by the steady hands of an aged… "Alfred!"

The butler quirked a rather expressive eyebrow at the intruder. "You seem to have me at a disadvantage." His accent was very refined, his voice firm. "Perhaps you would care to rectify that by giving me your name, telling me all there is to know about yourself? Who you are, where you come from, and most importantly… How you came to be where you shouldn't?"

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"Hold it Castle!" Nick Fury ordered America's most wanted fugitive, he had the man dead in sights. He had no idea where he was, how he got here, but his orders concerning the former New York City detective were explicit.

Bring him in by any means necessary.

Until he figured out what was going on though, orders from on high could go hang for all he cared.

Fury understood Frank Castle. He wondered if their roles had been reversed if he would have done the same thing.

"Colonel," Castle said cautiously. He made sure to keep his hands in plain sight. The last thing he wanted was to give Fury an excuse to punch a hole through the back of his skull. The man didn't garner his reputation by being all kitteny cuddles, or by adhering to his orders. "It seems we find ourselves in a bit of a situation here."

"I'd agree," Fury said moving closer. He knew Castle had a small arsenal on him. "My question is what do you know about it?"

"Me?" Castle asked with a derisive snort. "Aside from getting bounced down a stair well, not a damn thing. What about you?"

Fury holstered his gun as he stepped into view. Castle lowered his hands, a quizzical frown creeping into his eyes. "Seems we're both in the same boat. Might be able to find the answers quicker working together."

"We might," Castle agreed. He never felt comfortable working with other people. Especially not ones that wore brightly colored spandex. Most looked at him as if he were a pox. About the only one that didn't was Wolverine, but that man had more blood on his hands then most armies. "So what's the plan, or do we just wonder around until the bad guys make their move?"

"Find a control room, command post. Shake things up until something falls loose."

"That's your plan?" Castle gripped. "I thought you were some master strategist?"

Fury shrugged, "Normally I at least have few days to iron out the details. Right now I'm sort of making it up as I go along."

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Gwen Raiden opened the door slowly, allowing caution to set her course. With the utmost care she slipped out of the bland employ lounge and into a long hall. The dim lighting seemed the most natural conditions to be working in for the life long thief. Or they would have if she had actually been working.

The door had been unlocked, not a big surprise all things considered, but Gwen had to admit to a twinge of disappoint. It simply didn't feel right to open a door to an unfamiliar building without having picked the lock first. Or circumventing a whole host of counter measures specifically designed to keep people like her out.

She found physical locks, even the simplest of them, to be far more challenging then their modern, high tech, ultra sophisticated electric counterparts. A small, controlled electromagnetic burst was all it took to deactivate the most sophisticated electric device.

"Lost?" The question floated out of the darkness.

Gwen tensed, turned toward the sound, electricity crackled between her bare fingers. She was ever aware of her surroundings when on the job, and while this might not be her normal type of job, she was still someplace she wasn't suppose to be.

Captain America strode up the hallway. It took a great deal of effort to keep from laughing out loud. Still she couldn't prevent the nearly silent snicker.

He was as large as life and bold as brass. He looked the part, every inch of him, from the white wings adorning the sides of his head to the red, white, and blue star spangle shield strapped to his left arm. His stride was sure, confident, nothing at all like a security guard who just stumbled upon a thief.

"Must be a real cheesy rent-a-cop agency that makes its employees parade around in cheap costumes. Do they actually expect anyone to believe you're Captain America?"

Steve paused for a moment; the question caught him by surprise. In his entire life, nobody ever questioned his identity when he was in uniform. "Mam, I am Captain America."

He spoke the words so simply, yet with such conviction, that for a moment Gwen almost believed him. Reminding herself that she lived in the real world, not some imaginary fantasy, Gwen shrugged off the belief. "Look," she began as she let the door close behind her, "I can appreciate you wanting to protect your boss' property… and while he's got exquisite taste… Honestly, I don't have the faintest idea how I got here." She frowned thoughtfully before adding, "Or even where here is?"

"You're a thief," Steve said a little surprised by the admission. It wouldn't be the first time that he worked with a thief. Some of his staunchest allies had begun their careers on the wrong side of the law. He would have to be on his guard, but he didn't see a reason not to give her his trust.

"Bright boy. You'll go far," she responded tersely despite the fact she heard no recriminations in his voice.

Steve ignored her sarcasm, in a way he expected such an attitude. "We're in a cooperate high-rise. The lobby plaque named it Wayne Industries."

Gwen frowned at the name. She knew it, just about everyone knew it. How couldn't they. It was practically part of the human psychosis. "That isn't possible," she whispered.

Steve didn't like the girl's look, the way her color just drained away. She swayed on her feet. Steve reached for her, hoping to catch her before she fell. Her face hardened and she snapped, "Don't touch me," as she snatched her arm out of his reach. "Don't ever touch me," she repeated a second time without the hard edge. "If you know what's good for yourself…" Her voice softened, she just couldn't maintain the harsh tone with him watching her, such compassion shining in his eyes. Nobody ever looked at her like that, nobody was ever concerned with her welfare. "Just don't, all right?"

"Fair enough," Steve said. It was obvious to him that earning her trust was going to be hard. "You mind telling me why that name caused such a reaction?"

Gwen stared hard at Steve. There was only one person she knew who wouldn't know the name, and he had been dead two hundred years or more. "You don't recognize it?"

"I've never heard of Wayne Industries before I saw the plaque downstairs."

A soft chuckle bubbled out of her mouth as she said, "And I suppose your name's actually Steve Rogers." The air in the hallway seemed suddenly heavy. Her laughter sounded out of place and died abruptly. It had nothing to do with the deadly serious glint in his eyes. "You're not… Oh, come on! This isn't possible."

"Mam," Steve said with force hoping to keep her from having some type of breakdown.

"Gwen. My name is Gwen Raiden," she snapped. Running her right hand through her hair she turned slightly muttering, "This just isn't possible. Not possible. It just isn't. It just—"

"Gwen," Steve snapped. "Focus. Focus on me Gwen. I need you to tell me what's wrong."

"What's wrong," Gwen mimicked his last words as she turned wild eyes on him. "You're what's wrong. This building. It, you. Neither of you should exist. You're a character out of a comic book."

Steve was stunned by Gwen's proclamation. It provided a small nugget of confirmation to a thought tumbling around the back of his head. That he had been transported to a different reality. If he was in another reality, a different universe, it wouldn't be his first time.

"Gwen," he tried again. This time his voice was more soothing then a moment before. "You need to keep it together. If we're going to find out what's happened, find a way back, we have to help each—"

An explosion resonated from somewhere above them, rocking the building. Gwen stumbled, bounced off the wall, and crouched low while Captain America maintained his balance, shifting his weight in time with the rumblings.

"This way," Steve said with a gesture toward the stairwell.

"That way," Gwen mumbled as she pushed herself up. She took a step in the opposite direction. "Idiot. He's gonna get himself killed." She looked back towards Captain America, "That way goes toward the explosion!" She shouted at the man.

He didn't slow down, only said, "People might be hurt." He pulled open the steel fire door and forged ahead.

Gwen hung her head and muttered, "What is it with me and guys that have an over developed hero complex?"

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"Solomon Grundy is not our only problem," Jon said monitoring the sophisticated instrument panels arrayed in front of him. "A fight has broken out between two unknown Meta-humans within The Daily Planet. Batman is attending to a break in at Wayne Industries. Massive seismic activity is being reported a few miles outside Cleveland—"

"Need me to handle anything?" Kara asked, a small note of pleading in her voice that a smart person would not point out. Jon graced her with a sympathetic look, but still shook his head no. Being on light duty was an embarrassment she didn't want to put up with.

She was Super Girl.

Several other League members were in attendance, either working or simply hanging out and chatting up their fellow members. She knew most, if by nothing more then reputation, but Green Arrow she had worked with on several occasions. By all reports the man had nearly been eviscerated on his last mission, yet nobody seemed to be coddling him the way they were her.

She fumed silently for a moment. It was a brief moment only. The next instant brackish green and blue electricity arced through the chamber.

It pulsed rapidly for a second before vanishing leaving four people in its place, three women and one man. The two women with red hair both began to plummet, the one wearing the frumpy street clothes whispered a single word and brought her hasty decent to a quick stop.

Raven Darkholme landed on the hard metal floor graceful as any cat. Her red hair shimmered as she took in her surroundings. Her white skirt, divided, felt like silk against her rich blue skin. She kept her hands clear of the bone white skull heads decorating her belt. As far as anybody else was concerned they were nothing more then decoration.

Sarah Rogers rotated slowly. Her father's red, white and blue star spangle shield was strapped to her left forearm, Thor's Ural hammer was held in her right hand. Sometimes she wondered why the ancient wood didn't splinter under the pressure she exerted.

High school was a long way behind her, but suddenly Willow felt just like she did when rounding a corner and coming face to face with Principle Snyder. She couldn't help swallowing as the hard pit formed in her stomach. On her Earth she was accounted one of the most powerful witches to ever live, but here, in only a few seconds she sensed power that dwarfed everything she's encountered before. Some of these people made the First Evil seem like nothing more vicious then a swarm of gnats and Glory a fluffed up water balloon. The blonde girl hovering in the air above her… the ancient hammer in her hand glowed like a star in miniature; its power was so immense Willow didn't understand why nobody else could feel it.

Lucas Frost didn't bother to look around. He could feel the Earth's magnetic field far below him. Each mind aboard the space station was a blip on his telepathic radar. Some were open books; others were sealed tight, while one was akin to an A.M. radio that needed to be tuned.

"Hands in the air, feet on the floor!" Green Arrow ordered as he leveled one of his specialized arrows at the young man with white blond hair.

"Maybe if we sit down and discussed this," Willow offered trying to diffuse the situation before it flashed out of control. "I'm sure we'd all realize this is just some big misunderstanding—"

"Human," Lucas hissed. He raised his hands over his head. Out of everyone on the space platform, for all their power, there were only three mutants present; himself, Raven Darkholme, and the girl, Sarah Rogers. Her mind was hard to enter, the static filled radio station of a hybrid alien. Two other aliens occupied the control room, both possessed strong shields, one seemed almost an after thought, a toy some negligent child left forgotten on the playground. The other had been harnessed, focused into a powerful weapon. "You have no cause to hold me against my will."

"You broke into an Earth sanctioned installation." Booster Gold informed him sounding just a little too sanctimonious to everybody present. "That gives us all the cause we need."

_So much for that idea_, the thought wormed its way through Willow's consciousness. Not wanting to cause an alarm, but not wanting to remain defenseless either she began to gather her power, slowly so as to not draw attention to herself. It was hard, being so far away from Earth made it nearly impossible, like trying to siphon gas uphill through a forty foot straw.

Lucas' glare settled on Buster Gold. The hero from Earth's future swallowed hard. He felt like a slab of meat at market.

Despite the power of his armor and gadgets, he was the one Lucas was least concerned with. Even Oliver Green, with his high tech arrows, was more of a threat to him and the man was nothing more then a mock up of, Clint Barton, Hawkeye.

Sarah knew something worse then disastrous was about to happen. Just as she knew the man that bore such a remarkable resemblance to Erik Lehnsherr—the mutant Master of Magnetism, Magneto—was going to be at the heart of it. She could feel it deep in her bones.

Lucas smiled at them, it was like a shark smiling at his food. "Pardon," he began. His voice was like his eyes, bright and shiny on the surface, but underneath was an abyss of black ice. "I believe you misinterpreted my meaning. Simply put you don't have the power to hold me."

The Watch Tower began to shake, a roller coaster ready to fly off its rail.

"Magnus!" Sarah shouted. She had no idea what his name was, but she hoped it had some affect on him. "Stop this, now!"

"I've got the over grown Barbie Doll!"

_That's the kettle calling the pot black_, the thought bubbled through Raven's mind.

"Kara!" Jon yelled as Super Girl vaulted over the railing and rocketed away. A moment later Booster Gold launched himself at Lucas. Green Arrow loosed his shot, the arrow flew true for twenty feet before vectoring off at a sharp angle. "Crap," Green Arrow snarled.

At the last possible instant Sarah turned, taking the brunt of Kara's powerful punch on her adamantium shield. It still sent her rocketing down one of the Watch Tower's long corridors. Kara was quick to press her advantage and raced after the green clad warrior.

"The name is Nemesis…"

"Aust Nio-"

"Silence Witch," Lucas growled lashing out with a psi-bolt.

Willow screamed as pure psychic energy overwhelmed her shields. She had thought they were powerful enough to withstand anything. On her world they might have been. Here, Now… They were like using misquote netting to keep out a tiger. She went limp and plummeted from the air, hitting the floor with a solid thud.

The arrow struck Booster Gold releasing the steel cable inside. It wrapped around Booster Gold like a thing alive. Lucas tightened the cable and pulled him to the floor. He slammed into the hardened steel with force.

Raven had no desire to make the acquaintance of federal authorities, especially when she was wanted for the attempted assassination of Senator Kelly. Better for her if she got out of here as quickly as possible and the erupting violence was the perfect opportunity to make good her escape.

"Arrow, stop the woman!" Jon ordered.

"On it." Green Arrow loosed another arrow. The woman moved with a graceful, unhurried ease. She darted down a side passage. The arrow zipped around after her. A second later it exploded.

It took almost everything Booster Gold had, but he finally managed to free himself from the constrictor cable. "A strong enough pulse should be able to punch a hole through that shield."

"No!" Jon shouted bringing a halt to Booster Gold's attack before it began. He had been searching for a way inside, but no matter how he altered his density he was trapped on the outside. "A blast of that magnitude can just as easily tear the Tower's hull apart." The only other option he had available was a meeting of the minds, but the boy's strength was phenomenal, easily rivaling his own.

"Huh," Booster grunted sourly, "I didn't even think of that," he added sounding a little crestfallen. "Guess that's why you're the brains' of this outfit. What do you want me to do?"

"Get the girl to medical, then find Kara, she's not nearly as recovered from her battle with Galatea as she'd like to believe."

"I'm on it," Booster agreed. He found the thought of watching a chick fight much more appealing then being stuck with a stiff shirt like Jon. Added Double bonus, it was a chick fight with two hot chicks. Before he left Booster turned back and asked, "What are you going to do?"

"Put a stop to this madman before he kills someone."


	5. Chapter 5

Riders on the Storm: Chapter Five

The residents of Metropolis, most of whom had seen their share of strangeness over the years, gawked openly at the pair of riders as they blazed a literal fiery trail down the four lane highway, weaving in and out of traffic at break neck speeds. Their flaming motorcycles were moving so fast that most only saw the trail of fire left behind.

Johnny Blaze surged just ahead of Ghost Rider. He was only there a moment before his flaming skull riding partner pulled back ahead, but only by the slimmest margin.

This city was like no city he had ever seen before, it was so futuristic, like something out of science fiction novel, only people could have been plucked off a Manhattan street corner. It was pretty much what happened to them, and not just them, but Vengeance as well.

He hadn't seen the bruiser yet, but he could sense his presence, feel it deep in his bones.

Ghost Rider pulled to a stop, sliding sideways into an intersection, much like a skier. Johnny followed the move with practiced ease. Accounted one of the finest stunt riders ever, the motorcycle born of hellfire simply made him that much better, nearly the equal of his mystical partner.

His gaze was affixed to one of the taller buildings in the area. A metallic banner wrapped around a globe the size of a small apartment complex, proclaimed the towering skyscraper to be the Daily Planet.

With a casual indifference of people who don't care, the pair ignored the blaring horns their presence in the intersection was causing.

"What is it?" Johnny inquired as he lit up some generic brand of cigarette. He had been in such a rush he hadn't bothered to check and see what they were; just tossed a few bucks on the counter, grabbed them, and was back out the door. Heck he hadn't even gotten off his motorcycle.

Johnny didn't know why he asked. There was only one thing that made Ghost Rider go all google-eye, like a virgin in a New Orleans's Cat House. "Innocent Spirits scream out for Vengeance," he answered right on cue in that "I eat souls for breakfast" monotone. It was the sort of voice you read a Stephen King novel in, his old novels; Carrie and The Shining, Christine.

With a squeal, like a scream dredge from the pit of Hell itself, Ghost Rider roared down the road completely undeterred by the fact he was going the wrong way.

"Here we go again," John mumbled and raced off after Ghost Rider. In the back of his head Blaze wondered just how evil something had to be for Ghost Rider to feel it from so far away. He began to brace himself for the worst.

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Lois Lane opened her mouth and screamed for all she was worth as she careened with wild abandon toward the beige colored wall. She spiraled in mid air and was suddenly gazing at the ceiling, closing with it at impossible speed.

Not really impossible speed, she had flown faster in her life, but this wasn't the romantic moonlit flight over Metropolis that Superman would occasionally whisk her away on when their lives weren't quite so hectic and their schedules meshed enough for them both to get away.

This was a mad—helter-skelter, topsy-turvy—dash to escape a blood crazed psychopath as she clung, for dare life, to a girl who was probably no older then Clark's cousin Kara, and dressed in a skin tight, head to toe, red and blue form fitting costume with a stylized spider effigy across her chest.

_As if guys didn't already have enough reason to look there_.

She never touched the ceiling, instead utilizing a form of tactile telekinesis to push herself downward a bare fraction of a second before a sturdy steel desk embedded itself in the ceiling where they would have landed.

Lois found that too incredible. It was almost as if the girl had known it was coming and instinctively reacted to the threat.

"Gonna run out of tricks sooner or later," the sociopath, he had called himself Spike, shouted after them as they twisted in midair. The girl touched the carpet for only an instant before she bounded even further away from him shifting Lois weight mid flight giving her another good view of the man, not that she needed another.

He was definitely handsome, in a strictly devilish sort of way. His features were a little on the feminine side, yet he still managed to pull off that sharp, hard edge, British bad boy persona. What sealed the deal though was that he looked so much like Billy Idol and the secret crush she harbored for the British Punk Rocker in her pre-teen years. When all the other girls were screaming for Menudo and the New Kids on the Block, she had wanted something with more substance and she found it in the Platinum blonde sneer of Billy Idol.

Nobody had ever learnt of her deep dark secret. If anyone had, she would have been the social pariah of elementary school.

The girl snagged the wall at the end of the t-juncture with her fingertips, flipping herself around with a graceful ease. Her feet made contact with the far wall and bounded off, rocketing down the corridor toward the elevator.

As she streaked down the hall, the girl began throwing down an intricate pattern of silken lines. They wouldn't stop Spike, but they might slow him down, give him something to admire if nothing else.

They landed in front of the closed doors, her single leap having covered more then thirty feet. Lois' feet touched the floor for the first time in what felt like forever to the reporter. The girl reached out and pressed the button, then folded her arms and waited for the elevator. Her impatience began to show as her right foot took up a steady tapping.

Lois found the image to be priceless. She wished a film crew was present just to capture the moment. It would almost be as timeless as the Flash waiting for the bus or Batman checking his luggage.

"So," Lois started a little loss for words. While she sort of palled around with some of the more high profile heroes out there, she didn't often find herself at the heart of an adventure.

"So," the girl parroted her. Not mocking, just attempting to get her going.

"You do this often?"

"Wait for elevators?" She gave a small shake of her head as she answered saying, "Not very. I got a line on a quicker mode of transportation."

The amusement in her voice made Lois grind her teeth lightly. She took a calm breath, but only a small one before asking, "Putting yourself in life and death situations?"

"Oh," she began, almost sounding surprised by a sudden revelation, "you mean the deliberately antagonizing homicidal Billy Idol impersonators."

"Yes," Lois answered patiently.

"First and third Tuesdays and Thursdays of each month with alternating weekends. Mondays, Wednesday, and Friday it's paranoid schizophrenic Ozzy Osborne impersonators with delusions of grandeur, but their so hard to tell apart from the original that I've had to start doing ID checks."

Lois thought the girl was joking, but it was hard to be sure.

At the T-juncture Spike strolled into view and stopped, taking in the web lines clogging the corridor. He whistled appreciatively.

"Damn," the girl hissed.

"You didn't do all this just for me?" He sounded rather impressed, and maybe just a little too pleased with himself. The girl grabbed the doors and pried them open with nothing more then her fingertips. "Be a right shame to have to destroy such a work of Art."

"What's your name?" Lois asked as the girl leaned into the elevator shaft.

"Ma—" The girl began before cutting herself short. "What is with all the questions?" She asked as she fired another stream of her webbing down the shaft. With a grunt she heaved upward.

"I'm a reporter—"

"You're trying to do an interview? Now?" She cut her off as she jerked up again pulling the elevator up in rapid hand over hand movement.

"No time like the present," Lois answered.

She spared Lois a glance as she brought the elevator up to the opening. Holding it there with one hand, she grabbed the elevator and pulled it up a little. Sliding her fingers in-between the seam she pried the doors apart. "Get in," she grunted pushing one side open with her foot as she pulled the other open with her right hand.

Lois stared at the opening with skepticism. This slightly built girl was holding an elevator without the faintest hint of strain while standing on one leg. "You've got to be kidding me," she mumbled plaintively before squeezing her way through the opening.

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Oliver Queen, one time head of Queen Industries, but better known to the world at large as The Green Arrow, raced around the corner. The arrow he fired at the woman hadn't been rigged with explosives, yet explode it had.

He supposed it could have, under the right conditions, what those were he didn't have the slightest idea. The woman was lying on the floor in a crumpled heap a few feet away from the blackened wall and the shattered remains of his arrow.

Another arrow was nocked and leveled at the woman, just because she looked in bad shape didn't mean she was. She was a fabulous looking, exotic with her indigo skin and brilliant red hair that seemed to shimmer in the light.

A thick pool of blood was beginning to seep out under her side. A lot of blood. He still wasn't sure. Still he couldn't simply stand by and watch her bleed to death.

Moving forward Oliver grabbed her shoulder as he said, "Medical's on its way," as he began to roll her over.

She moved so suddenly, an uncoiling viper, as her hand slashed back. "You're going to need it," she snapped.

"Oww," he yelled as razor sharp steel sliced open his uniform and cut a shallow grove across his flesh. If he hadn't been moving away from her when she struck that blade would have slit his throat ear to ear. Whoever she was, she was playing for keeps.

Throwing himself away from her, Oliver gave himself a little room to fire. He came to one knee, ready to release, but was startled to find the woman was inside his guard. He threw himself back avoiding her punch, but only just.

It was all he could do to avoid taking a direct hit from the woman. She moved like a dervish, connecting almost at will while avoiding his meager counter attacks.

He just avoided her kick to the head, throwing himself down an adjoining corridor. He was really beginning to despise the fact that there were so many women who were capable of kicking his ass.

As he scrambled back to his feet, Oliver reached for another arrow and grasped air. With horror he realized his quiver was gone, it was back in the other corridor. Between him and it was the blue skin killer woman.

Heavy footsteps pounded from up the steel hall. Oliver looked up and smiled broadly at the sight of Shining Knight racing up the corridor. "Knight!"

A solid body crashed into him and drove him to the floor. They went down in a heap. He knew it had to be the woman, but the body didn't feel right. It was larger, heavier then it should be.

He rolled over, driving a hard elbow into the woman's face. She slammed a sharp knee into his hamstring. They rolled over several times, exchanging a flurry of ineffective elbows, pokes, and jabs as they came back to their feet.

Oliver spun around with a wild backhand aimed at where he thought her head should be, only it thudded into solid muscle. A moment later he understood why as he stared, gaped at himself. From the quick glance they were identical, right down to the slash across his chest with a thin stream of blood welling around the thin gash.

He wondered if he looked as stupid as his doppelganger did, with his mouth hanging open. Suddenly it snapped shut and a quick pair of jabs peppered his face snapping him out of his daze.

He shot a hard right hand at his own head and smiled with satisfaction when it landed flush and his double staggered back. He caught himself and renewed his attack with vigor.

Oliver slipped both punches while his own counter attack was true, his second was caught and he felt himself jerked forward as an elbow shot toward his head. He managed to block the elbow, twisting under and delivering a quick uppercut to his doubles ribs, but didn't move fast enough to avoid the heavy left hand that dropped onto his head. Grabbing hold of his double by their legs Oliver hefted them into the air and surged forward. A hard elbow dropped him to a knee, arms wrapped around his waist, cinched in tight, and he found himself crashing to the floor after he was flipped over. The shock of hitting the steel drove the air from his lungs.

"Hold," Shining Knight ordered the two Green Arrows.

"Knight," Oliver started as he began roll over. "Careful she's a shape shifter."

Oliver gaped at himself, it was his voice, what he was going to say, almost word for word. "She's the shape shifter," he growled surging to his feet.

The Knight's sword wavered between the two men. They looked identical, sounded alike. There was no way he could tell them apart.

"Its no use," One of the Green Arrow's said. "You'll never tell us apart. She's too good. You'll need to take both of us in, until it can all be sorted out."

The other Green Arrow looked disgusted as he growled, "You've got to be pulling my leg. That fake sprouts some lame ass, holier then thou piece of trite and you're gonna fall for it. Come on Knight, you know me better then that."

"You are correct," he said leveling the business end of his sword at the suspected imposter. The other Arrow smirked devilishly as he boldly folded his arms across his chest. "I am indeed well acquainted with The Green Arrow; Well enough to know him to be an stout and honorable ally capable of making the ultimate sacrifice to achieve his desired goal." His arm swung back with sudden violence, the hilt slammed into the Green Arrow's face with such force the man crumpled to the floor in a boneless heap. "It is a good thing I know you well enough to know you would never voluntarily give up your freedom," The Shining Knight said as he looked back over his shoulder at the fallen Arrow. "She must have a great deal of control to maintain your shape while unconscious," he noted clinically. He didn't know a great many shape shifters, but he thought most reverted back when they lost consciousness.

"As a matter of fact…" a strange, cultured voice said from behind him.

He spun around with the speed of desperation driving him faster then he ever thought possible. His sword arcing toward the voice, but the woman was beyond his reach. _What an exotic beauty_. Were the last thoughts to skitter through his head as the heavy energy beam blasted him into the wall.

"…I do," she said as he dropped to the floor with a heavy thud. She moved forward with dancer's grace, her form shifting with each step as she melted into a nameless, mostly featureless security agent that proliferate facilities such as this.

Mystique knelt down and checked both men; despite her reputation as a ruthless, cold bloodied killer she had no interest in seeing either of these men dead. They simply had the misfortune of being in the way of what she desired most. At the moment that was a way off this orbiting tin can without half the installation hot on her heels.

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Kennedy glanced between her two, much larger companions. The only thing any of them knew for sure was they were in St. Louis, the golden arch dominating the midnight horizon told them that. How they got there, none of them had a clue.

Five minutes ago Willow handed her the axe after completing her spell, unleashing the slayer contained within the Potentials all over the world. She had bolted out the door, raced down the hall, and then she was here, axe still in hand.

Crashing into the ground at a hundred and ninety miles an hour. Her body sore in places she didn't know could get sore, if not for her recently acquired slayer healing she would still be groaning in agony where she landed. As it was, thirty seconds later and she was back on her feet.

Her two companions hadn't even taken that long. Moments after landing they were up without the slightest hitch in their step. It annoyed her; they were so big, they made her look a toddler. On one knee, as he was now, Troy Creel could look her in the eye. Seven feet tall if an inch, three hundred and thirty pounds of solid muscle with zero percent body fat. He was older then her and Rebecca; grizzled is how Kennedy would describe him, sort of like Buffy, but with more facial hair. His gray eyes had seen a lot in twenty five years, more then someone his age should have. If she wasn't gay she would say he was drool worthy.

Draped over his sculpted shoulder, as if it were nothing more then a feather light pillow, was a massive wrecking ball attached to a fifteen foot long chain. Chain and ball looked ancient, as if they were plucked from a Greek ruin.

"Feel that?" Creel asked pressing his fingertips into the blacktop.

If Kennedy didn't know any better she would swear the tips of his fingers had taken on the texture of the pavement. Five minutes ago she would have said that was impossible, but now…

"Somebody having a bad day?" Rebecca asked flippantly.

Creel smiled at the casual comment, but still explained, "Impact tremors, big ones by the feel of them. Know a few people that can cause 'em that big. Your old man, not to mention the majority of his sparing partners included." He rose back to his full height.

For all his size and sculpted muscles, Rebecca made him look like a grey hound compared to a mastiff. She towered above him at over eight feet tall. She was literally a walking muscle whose skin just happened to be a somber jade color. She was so muscle bound that her muscles had muscles. "Guess we better cheek it out." Her voice was thick with excitement.

"What do you think small fry?" Creel asked the young slayer. Like Rebecca his voice was sharp with excitement, unlike his longtime friend, Creel's voice also held a note of apprehension.

Kennedy shrugged. What she really wanted to do was get her hand on a phone and call Giles, even Buffy, but she would much prefer getting a hold of her red headed girlfriend Willow. She tried calling already, but for some reason her cell phone wasn't working right, the system didn't recognize it which meant she was going to have to find a land line. Maybe if she could give these two the slip. "If you guys think it's a good idea, who am I to disagree?"


End file.
